


Make Me Fall In Love

by HomicideAndGlitter



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Classes, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Gay, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Love, M/M, MCR is already a band, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Parties, Religious References, Romance, Sexual Fantasy, Shenanigans, This isn't a group chat fic, Tyler is a good religious boi, a bit of angst, a few of these characters are just referenced, attempted humor, bandom group chat, but there are group chat elements in some of the chapters, crude language, detailed high school universe, graphic depictions of anxiety attacks, i promise this is a fic with an actual story line, lotta gay, mild violence, not just chats, parents gone for the whole WEEK cliche, relationship drama, sexual references/jokes, so is josh lol, sorry if you don't like them, the story is funny tho i swear, there is so much bad stuff in the tags, those sections arent that long, underage drug/ alcohol use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:59:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 77,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8479639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomicideAndGlitter/pseuds/HomicideAndGlitter
Summary: Brendon was in a bad relationship with Ryan Ross for nearly four years, one that was borderline abusive. When he finally has enough, the relationship comes to an abrupt ending, and a new one begins with Dallon Weekes. Unfortunately, Ryan didn't realize how great Brendon is until he didn't have him, and tries to destroy the relationshipTyler Joseph somehow ends up with feelings for his new best friend, Josh Dun. Tyler's world is flipped upside-down; suddenly, he isn't as straight as he thought, and it doesn't help that his own uncertainty and self-hatred brings back “BlurryFace”, someone he hasn't heard from in a long time.Frank makes a few friends by standing up for Mikey Way, the brother Gerard Way, his crush. When the boys who bullied Mikey catch wind that Frank is interested in Gerard, they decide to try get even with the threePatrick and Pete try their damnedest to protect everyone from bullies, disruptive ex-boyfriends, and imaginary friends, but that is a really difficult thing to do when they have problems of their own. However, this doesn't mean the two won't try. From parties to midnight drives, and even skipping school; all of the boys stick together to repair each other, one little day at a time





	1. A normal day of planning parties and being gay

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers for the chapter-PROCEED WITH CAUTION. :  
> -Crude Language and full of Swearing:  
> all throughout the chapter  
> -Homophobic Slurs and Violence Against Bullies in section:  
> "Mikey-12:30 AM, 3rd period-Trigonometry"  
> It is only around four or five homophobic slurs, but I ask for you to please tread carefully, because I'd really hate for someone to feel triggered!

**3:26 AM, Friday, September 2 nd**

–

 **Bren_Done:** _has changed the chat name to_   **Pride Parade**

  


**Pete Wentz:**  uh…?

  


**Ryan Ross:** Brendon, please!

  


**Pete Wentz:** I take it the private chat went well?

  


**Bren_Done** _has blocked_   **Ryan Ross**   _from the chat._

  


**Pete Wentz:** or not?

  


**Bren_Done:**  night, pete.

  


**Pete Wentz:** good night?

* * *

  


**6:30 AM same day**

–

 **Bren_Done:** mornin!

  


**Pete Wentz** _is typing…_

  


**Pete Wentz:** Morning.

 **Pete Wentz:**  so, are you going to tell me what happened with Ryan last night?

 **Pete Wentz:** are you guys on friendly terms or…?

 **Pete Wentz:** because blocking someone doesn't sound like friendly terms to me.

  


**Bren_Done:**  nope.

 **Bren_Done:** I admit to being upset about it, though.

 **Bren_Done:** and to fix my -absolute- despair, i'm throwing a huge party.

  


**Pete Wentz:**  wait, you mean like an actual party, with actual people?

  


**Bren_Done:** yep.

  


**Pete Wentz:** an actual party with actual food? an actual party with dugs, alcohol, and loud music?

  


**Bren_Done:**  say actual one more time and I will throw you out of a fucking window.

 **Bren_Done:** but yes.

 **Bren_Done:**  minus the drugs, I hope.

 **Bren_Done:**  my parents would throttle me if they found cocaine on the floor.

  


**Pete Wentz:** actual.

 **Pete Wentz:** dude, did your parents say you could throw a party?

  


**Bren_Done:** you little fucker.

 **Bren_Done:** also- nope.

  


**Pete Wentz** _is typing…_

  


**Pete Wentz:** Then how the fuck are you going to throw a party?

 **Pete Wentz:** oh, let me guess, it's the “my parents are gone for the whole weekend” cliché?

 **Pete Wentz:** I don't mean to burst your bubble, Bren, but you also don't have enough friends to have some humongous party.

  


**Bren_Done:** cORRECTION:

  


**Pete Wentz:** never type like that again. Ever.

  


**Bren_Done:** it's the “my parents are gone for the whole WEEK” cliché.

 **Bren_Done:** and that's where you come in, Pete.

 **Bren_Done:** for some ass-weird reason, you literally know the name of everybody in the whole fucking school. You have a shit ton of friends, so you can just invite yours!

 **Bren_Done:** hell, invite the entire school, if you want.

 **Bren_Done:**  also, I can tyPE HOW I WANT, FuCK YOU.

  


**Pete Wentz:**  first of all- you are a massive fucking dork.

  


**Bren_Done:** you love it.

  


**Pete Wentz:** ya damn right I do.

 **Pete Wentz:** second- are you freaking serious? Don't you see the flaws in your plan?

  


**Bren_Done:** not really, no.

  


**Pete Wentz:** How am I supposed to convince a shit ton of people to find your house? YOUR house, Bren. I don't mean to sound like an ass, but you have like, three friends. No one knows you.

  


**Bren_Done:**  yeah, but everyone likes you! They will totally come if you ask them. Tell them we have booze.

  


**Pete Wentz:** Well sure, I know them. But you don't! That would mean a bunch of strangers would be coming to YOUR house to party.

 **Pete Wentz:** these people would be going through YOUR living space, drinking YOUR beer, eating YOUR food, and by the next morning, destroying YOUR house!

 **Pete Wentz:** you and I both know your parents would be pissed af to learn you not only had a party, but invited strangers to it.

  


**Bren_Done:** dude, I literally don't care. I want to chill with a bunch of people. maybe i'll make some friends, maybe date someone new?

 **Bren_Done:** who knows, man, anything could happen.

 **Bren_Done:** don't you think it will be fun?

  


**Pete Wentz** _is typing…_

  


**Pete Wentz:** Brendon, I think it sounds like a lot of fun! I just don't want you to regret your decision.

 **Pete Wentz:**  You don't need to throw a party to make friends, either—or date someone new?

 **Pete Wentz:** If you are ready to move on, does this mean I should delete Ryan's contact from my phone?

  


**Bren_Done:** I wont regret this, at all.

 **Bren_Done:**  and have you not looked at me? I am the biggest emo freak in school.

 **Bren_Done:**  I wear glasses, I refuse to play sports, I think make-up is cool, and I'm pretty gay.

 **Bren_Done:** no one wants to be friends with the nerdy gay kid unless he does something worth being called cool over!

 **Bren_Done:**  like throwing a fucking rave or some shit.

 **Bren_Done:** also, I don't care if you want to keep his phone number

 **Bren_Done:** (but being a good friend means deleting him from your entire life, anyways.)

  


**Pete Wentz:** Brendon, you can't just DELETE someone from your life.

 **Pete Wentz:** That kind of sounds like murder and under these circumstances, I do not condone it.

  


**Bren_Done:** does that mean you wouldn't care if these were under different circumstances?

  


**Pete Wentz:** you are not a murderer, and I never said that I WOULD condone it.

  


**Bren_Done:** how do you know I'm not a murderer?

 **Bren_Done:** I chainsaw people.

  


**Pete Wentz:** oh my god

 **Pete Wentz:** you know what? I digress.

 **Pete Wentz:** I had a point, and your dumb ass distracted me.

  


**Bren_Done:** you're welcome.

  


**Pete Wentz:** You may be emo—there is no denying that—but you aren't a freak. Glasses don't make you nerdy, either. Glasses are fucking in style now, you dork. Also, this is the 21st century—no one really cares that much anymore if you are gay, or if you wear a little bit of eyeliner.

 **Pete Wentz:** You can make friends all on your own, without a party. You are actually really cool, confident, and nice. That all sounds like friendship material to me, Bren.

 **Pete Wentz:** I suspect the only reason why you don't have more friends is because you were so involved with Ryan, so eager to please him, that you didn't worry about your own social life. And that's stupid.

  


**Bren_Done** _is typing…_

  


**Bren_Done:** oh…

 **Bren_Done:** that's really nice, Pete. Thanks.

 **Bren_Done:** except for the last part—Fuck you.

 **Bren_Done:** anyways, I would prefer if you didn't say his name, or if we didn't talk about him at all.

 **Bren_Done:** his very existence puts a sour taste in my mouth.

  


**Pete Wentz:** you probably just need to brush your teeth, B

  


**Bren_Done:** oh, haha.

 **Bren_Done:** i've already done that, ass wipe.

  


**Pete Wentz:** whatever man

 **Pete Wentz:** you're welcome, by the way.

 **Pete Wentz:**  so...are you absolutely sure that you want to throw a big party?

  


**Bren_Done:** do penguins fly?

  


**Pete Wentz:** uh...no?

  


**Bren_Done:** wait, seriously?

 **Bren_Done:** jk, nvm.

 **Bren_Done:** am I hella gay?

  


**Pete Wentz:**???

 **Pete Wentz:** yes?

  


**Bren_Done:** then there's your answer!

  


**Pete Wentz:** wow. Are you fucking serious?

 **Pete Wentz:** you are a dork. Smh

  


**Bren_Done:**  you've called me a dork at least three times now. I get it, shuddup.

 **Bren_Done:**  I'm gonna skip school today, to prepare for the party

 **Bren_Done:** since my parents are leaving at about ten am or so, I'm going to try my best to milk more money from them—ham up the “fact” that I am sick and I will need lots of money for tea and aspirin.

 **Bren_Done:** So you need to invite everyone at school to my house while I'm absent. The party is tomorrow at 9 in the afternoon, okay?

 **Bren_Done:** invite everyone, except for You-Know-Who.

  


**Pete Wentz:** Voldemort?

  


**Bren_Done:**  I will slash your fucking throat if you ever make a joke like that again.

 **Bren_Done:** and don't ever say his name, jfc!

  


**Pete Wentz:** violent much? And voldemortvoldemortvoldemort

  


**Bren_Done:**  uhg

 **Bren_Done:** have fun inviting people to my awesome party, and enjoy going to hell.

 **Bren_Done:** sorry, my finger slipped. I meant “school”.

 **Bren_Done:** (you're going to hell, too, though.)

  


**Pete Wentz:** yeah, yeah. See ya later, bro.

* * *

**Brendon—6:42 AM**

  Brendon drops his phone on his bed side table, sighing. He refuses to believe he is heart broken, and he refuses to let his and  _You-know-who's_ break up force him into sadness. No, Brendon is going to get his skinny white ass out of bed, throw a party, and make a bunch of friends. He glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand, and the display tells him that the bus would soon be approaching the bus stop down the road. His mother would realize in a few minutes that he hasn't gotten up, and come to check on him.

  “Brendon?” His mother's worried voice reaches his ear, and he almost grins.

  “Speak of the devil,” He murmurs in amusement. When he hears her high heels clicking up the wooden stair case, he grabs his phone and holds it against his forehead, rubs it against his cheeks. He had left it on charge well after 100%, just so it would get nice and hot. When His mother taps a hesitant knuckle on the bedroom door, he drops the phone, drags the blanket to his chin, and pulls a pained face.

  “Mom?” He asks meekly, and the door slowly pushes open.

  “Bren, dear?” She asks with concern. Brendon lets out another sad moan. She tip-toes the best she can in those ridiculous high heels, making her way to Brendon's bed. He lets out a grunt when she drops beside of him.

  “Oh, baby, what's wrong? You don't sound well!” She exclaims, plucking his blanket off of his face to peer down at him. Brendon gently shakes his head, trying to look as if the very action made him sick. His mother reaches a perfectly manicured hand towards his face, and he momentarily wonders if his Phone's battery heat would have been enough to make his face warm. She pats either side of his face with a small frown.

  “Brendon, this better not be a trick. Your face isn't even that warm,” He gentle voice turned into a more stern one. Thinking quickly, he realized that he would have to think of another way to not go to school, as he so clearly couldn't fool his mother. An idea occurs to him, and he tries not to let his cunning show.

  It was almost too easy to make tears drip quickly from his cheeks. His mother, absolutely startled, grabs her son and pulls him to her bosom.

  “Tell me what's wrong, now! You are scaring me! Are you really sick, baby? Does something hurt?”

  “My heart hurts,” Brendon chokes, and tries not to think about how easy it was for these tears to become real, how easy it was to just suddenly feel absolute heart break. Dammit! Brendon thought he was over this two hours ago! Brendon really wasn't the type of person to be sad. Sure, he could be pretty quick tempered, but Brendon was generally a very happy, arrogant, yet friendly person. He never  _really_  cries. He never  _really_ feels sadness. Right?

  “That's not good, Brendon!” His mother shrieks, pulling away and looking him over. “What kind of pain is it? Where exactly is it?”

  “My heart,” He whimpers again, “it's broken.” Fuck this.

  “I-what?” His mother stares dumbly at him, not expecting that. As stated previously, Brendon is a really rambunctious and silly person, and his mother would have never thought that Brendon would feel heart broken; much less cry when he is.

  “My heart is broken,” He groans, trying to flop sideways. His mother holds fast to his arms, shaking her head in anger.

  “Was it Ryan? What did that little shit do to you-?”

  “Mom!” Brendon complains, sniffling hard. He doesn't want his mother to speak bad about his ex. He doesn't want to even talk about him at all, but if Brendon is to skip school, he is going to have to talk about his... _feelings._

  “What? Brendon, please,” She begs, and her son sighs quietly, letting his fringe cover his eyes.

  “Ryan and I had a really bad fight last night, and we broke up. I haven't slept any at all, and I have two classes with him, and lunch,” He trails off, picking at a non-existent loose thread on his blanket. “I just don't want to see him, not yet. If I don't go today, then I can mentally prepare myself the whole weekend. I can be ready on Monday.” Well, it wasn't a complete lie, Brendon supposes. Even if he was forced to school, and couldn't throw a party, he would have just skipped second and third period just to avoid Ryan until he was ready.

  “Oh, Brendon, sweetie, don't worry, it will get better!” His mother encourages, carding her fingers through her son's long, and extremely messy hair. Her fingers find a small knot, and she works her hands through the lock to untangle it.

  “Can I skip, please? Just for today! I really don't think I'll make it,” He pleads, clasping his hands together and swerving her attempts to brush through his hair again. His mother gives him an expression he likes to call the “Mom Look”, the face she pulls when she is trying to decide if it would be responsible to let her son skip school. The face she makes when she is trying to decide if she should take her role as a parent, or as a friend. Apparently, by the way her eyes soften, she decides to be the friend.

  “Just one day, Brendon Urie. Don't you even  _think_ about making this an all the time thing, and you better make good use of your day, today!”  _Oh, I will be,_  Brendon thinks with a hidden grin. He quickly scrubs the tears from his eyes as his mother prattles on about leaving for the airport with her husband, and about how she is going to leave her son  _plenty_ enough money to keep Brendon from getting bored or starving. When she realizes Brendon wants her to go away, now, his mother sighs and plants a big red kiss on his temple.

  “I love you, dear. Go ahead and get some sleep, and text me every day, you hear? I'll see you next Friday. I will leave plenty of emergency cell numbers. If you feel the need to invite friends over, call and ask me first! If you go to someone else's house, make sure you tell me, and make sure the house is locked up! And-”

  “Mom, I know, I know. Let me go back to sleep, please!” Brendon complains in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. His mother huffs, looking a bit miffed, before making her way out of the bedroom.

  “I love you,” She repeats, and Brendon mutters something similar back to her. The door snaps into the door frame, and Brendon searches frantically for his phone to message Pete while scratching the quickly drying lipstick from his face.

* * *

  


**7:12 AM same day**

–

 **Bren_Done:** Just letting you know that I convinced mom to let me stay home. I'm such a charmer, I swear. Have fun gathering potential friends for me, Emo King.

* * *

  


** Pete Wentz—7:30 AM **

  Pete sits at the normal breakfast table, alone. He jiggles his leg in anticipation as he stares with focused eyes at the door, uncaring for his packaged cereal and apple. Finally, the person he was waiting for lumbers sleepily from the breakfast line. The boy picks and weaves his body between the crowded, circular tables to get to the one in the very back, looking more than disgruntled.

  “Good morning, Patrick!” Pete yells excitedly, pushing his bag off of the seat next to him in hopes that the boy would take it. Patrick does not sit next to Pete, instead choosing the spot directly in front of him, so his back was to the sunlight pouring through the large windows. Pete lets on that he doesn't mind, though he does.

  “Not in the mood for yelling, Pete,” Patrick grumbles, trying his best to keep a polite and friendly voice. He shrugs his heavy backpack from his shoulders, and dumps his cereal and fruit onto the center of the table.

  “Sorry,” Pete grumbles, but refuses to let his happy mood dissipate. “Is everything alright? Bad night's sleep?”

  “Yep,” Patrick grumbles, no intent on elaborating. Pete continues to grin at the adorable, small teen slumped over the table. Pete is so distracted by his overwhelming crush that he didn't even notice when someone plops next to him.

  “Tell me about it?” Pete pipes cheerfully, and Patrick groans, knowing his best friend won't relent without an explanation.

  “That stupid dog next door got loose and came into our yard, barking up a storm,” Patrick begins, glaring at the grainy, beige surface of the table. “Believe it or not, the dumb animal managed to get into the house and woke everyone up. Mom wouldn't let anyone go to sleep until we caught the dog, gave it back to our asshole neighbors, and cleaned the house!”

  “You always have such great adventures when I'm not around,” Pete muses, thinking of all the times he's stayed with Patrick and nothing super exciting happened. Although, that's how Pete liked it, if he was honest. He liked just being alone with Patrick, watching movies or playing games, studying together.

  “It was not an adventure, it was a disaster. I'm so tired,” Patrick complains, falling over onto the table once more. A scoff sounds next to Pete, and finally the 'Emo King' notices the person sat next to him.

  “You had a bad night? At least you didn't get dumped at three in the morning,” Ryan grumbles. Pete shrinks away from the boy, wondering if he should ignore him or not.

  “Something happen to you and Brendon?” Patrick inquires, voice muffled from his sweater sleeve; Pete tries not to think about how absurdly cute it was when Patrick buries his face into his arms.

  “Yep. He dumped me because apparently I'm a prick and I manage to say dumb shit,” Ryan snorts. Ryan already has what many call a “resting bitch face”, but there was something even more...bitchy about him today. Maybe it was the pompous pink scarf with matching pale rose skinny jeans. Maybe it was the sneer he cast down at his cream-painted nails, or perhaps it was the fact that Ryan is sometimes... _just a fucking bitch_.

  Ryan is generally a good guy, if we are being honest. He just gets into these really annoying moods where he tries to be a poetic little shit all the time. He will correct your grammar, scowl when you don't have enough “Passion” ( _uhg,_ Pete thinks,  _theatre kids_ ), and becomes the fashion police when your outfit isn't to his liking. Ryan wants things his way or the highway, and he can be cocky as hell.

  Pete tries to not think badly about Ryan, because as mentioned before, the teen really is a good guy, sometimes. Pete tries to be friendly with Ryan mostly because of Brendon—and if it wasn't for Brendon, Pete never would have gave Ryan a second kind thought. Ryan is considered popular by some, due to his “extreme musical talent” and his “acting skills”. Pete has always been sketchy of Ryan, ever since the boy rejected every show of affection from Brendon when they were in public.

  At first, Pete believed it was just because Ryan may not be out yet, and hell, he could understand that. Even so, Pete remembered that Ryan had made it very clear to a freshman girl he was gay, and it spread like wildfire around the school. Ryan honestly didn't seem affected by it, and still refused any display of affection with Brendon. Pete remembers holding a crying Brendon in their sophomore year in Pete's bedroom; The latter believing that Ryan didn't care for him.

  “Pete, I'm talking to you!” Ryan complains, waving a hand in front of Pete's tanned face. Pete blinks in surprise, realizing he was staring blankly at Patrick, who looked concerned. Pete turns his attention to a mildly annoyed Ryan.

  “Ah, sorry. What?” Pete asks.  _Very eloquent of you,_  Pete thinks in amusement, enjoying the irritation that flickered across Ryan's face.

  “I asked you when Brendon was getting here,” Ryan grumbles, narrowing his eyes. Pete just shrugs and grabs the small juice carton he had snagged in the breakfast line; he works on opening it when he answers.

  “Bren didn't wanna come to school today,” Pete replies simply. Ryan's eye twitches.

  “Why?”

  “He hates you.”

  “Excuse me!” Ryan barks, and Patrick jumps, sending a scared glance to Pete. Pete catches the surprise and concern on his friend's face, before turning an angry look to Ryan. Pete was ready to say something rude since this pink stringbean startled Patrick, but Pete was interrupted before he could say anything.

  “You're excused,” A voice cuts, and Pete and Ryan snap their heads in the direction of the voice. Gerard Way plops into a seat next to Patrick, and his younger brother, Mikey, flanks the strawberry-blond's other side. Ryan bristles at their presence.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Ryan snaps. Oh, boy, he sure is moody today, huh?

  “Gerard fucking Way, the sass queen,” Gerard states, sending the petulant teen a smug smile. “And I'm not here to talk to you. I'm just here for moral support.” Gerard points to Mikey, who gives his brother an eye roll.

  “You talked to me first,” Ryan whispers childishly, before turning back to Pete. Pete was more interested in why his ex—and now one of his closest friends—needs moral support.

  “Hey, Patrick, sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour,” Mikey begins, earning a chuckle from Patrick. “But I didn't finish the home work last night, because I have no idea what the fuck is even going on. Help?” Mikey finishes, producing a packet of rolled papers from his hoodie pocket. Patrick nods, taking the assignment from Mikey. The Way brothers and little Patrick begin to look over the Packet when Ryan decides to bother Pete again with his very existence.

  “Why the fuck does Brendon 'hate' me?” Ryan demands, trying to decide if he is mad or hurt by the accusation.

  “Hell if I know, but he is treating your name as if it's Voldemort's—”

  “Don't say his name!” Patrick gasps, and Pete gives him a warm look before muttering an apology.

  “But why?” Ryan whines. Uhg, that's another thing Pete learned after years of friendship with Ryan; the little twat wants to know everything right then and there, and if he doesn't receive more knowledge, the 'genius' acts like a pouting toddler.

  “Bro, I  _just_  told you I don't know why. Whatever happened between you two in the private chat last night, it stayed between you both. All I know is that Brendon is not okay, and he's decided to skip school to plan something really stupid,” Pete snaps, inhaling through his nose. He is literally not in the mood to deal with this jerk. Ryan sadly lets the subject fall flat, giving his milk carton a dejected look.

  Pete almost feels a strike of pity. Maybe he is just being extremely biased right now, because his best friend is sulking at home, all heart broken. It is completely possible that Pete is comparing all of the little annoying things Ryan has done in the past, to the sudden break up, and making them seem bigger than they really were. Maybe Pete was always looking for a reason to hate Ryan, and now he has a chance. That's probably not fair. Pete gives Ryan a sympathetic pat on the back.

  “I'm sorry Ryan. Who knows, maybe you two will get back together?” Pete kind of hopes not, but he doesn't voice his true feelings. Ryan just shrugs him away with a snotty scowl, and Pete quickly decides he doesn't care anymore. Act like a bitch, get treated like one. He instead watches as Patrick tries to explain something to Mikey, who is having an extreme giggle fit while Gerard barks at him to take the question seriously.

  “What's so funny?” Pete asks, taking note of the pretty red creeping across Patrick's face.

  “Sex,” Mikey answers, giggling again. Pete raises an eyebrow, hoping that will be enough to get an explanation. What's so funny about sex?

  “I don't understand what's so funny,” Pete finally admits, and Gerard rolls his eyes.

  “Mikey is actually a fifth grader stuck in a tall teenager's body,” Gerard explains, but that just raises more questions than it answers.

  “I'm laughing because of Patrick!” Mikey snickers. Said person becomes a darker shade of red.

  “Why?”

  “He is just so flustered about sex! It's just cute,” Mikey gasps. Patrick narrows his eyes and gives Mikey a furious look.

  “I don't actually  _have_ to help you, you little shit,” Patrick snarls, glaring at the taller boy.  _Damn, Patrick sure looks beautiful when he is angry_ , Pete thinks distantly. Gerard snorts and leans around Patrick to laugh at his brother.

  “Mikey, I've told you time and time again not to laugh at people, or you won't have friends!” Patrick frowns at Gerard's wise words. He doesn't want to seem mean, and Mikey really  _is_ his friend. He'd hate to give the guy the impression of dislike.

  “Uhg, give me the fucking paper, and I'll do the work myself. Stop pestering me, and I may actually put down the right answers, and write in a calligraphy that closely resembles yours,” Patrick pulls the homework away from Mikey, who just beams as the assignment is carefully tucked away in Patrick's bag.

  “See, Gerard? Patrick still likes me! Maybe your advice is absolute shit.” Mikey cheers, and Gerard just pokes a tongue childishly at his annoying sibling.

  “I won't like you for long if you keep yapping in my ear,” Patrick growls sleepily, and Pete is once more distracted—and a bit turned on—by Patrick's angered voice. Dammit, he's gotta do something about this silly infatuation. Pete is relieved when the five minute bell rings, and he can get away from the suffocating attraction he has towards one of his best friends. He shoves his untouched food into his back pack, and tosses his juice box into the garbage can.

  Pete tells his friends—and Ryan—good bye, with promises to see them later, before bolting to English IV.

* * *

  


**Pete—8:36 AM, first Period—English IV**

  Pete stares longingly at the empty desk beside of his own, the one that Brendon normally sits in. The teacher drones on and on, and Pete finds it rather hard to pay attention when he can't even see her. Ms. Effler strides presumptuously around the back of the room, her voice being drowned by all the quiet chatter in the back rows.

  Wishing for the hundredth time that Brendon was here to at least make the class less boring, Pete slumps over on his desk with an exhausted sigh. Someone pokes him hard in the back, and Pete swivels around to give the offender a piece of his mind. His eyes meet a pair of large, light brown ones. The boy has chin length black hair, a small posture, and his outfit choice is only what Pete could describe as “Punk”.

  “What do you want?” Pete grumbles, and the boy shifts awkwardly in his seat. Pete's tired brain couldn't put a name to this kid's face.

  “Ah, the teacher said you're my partner today,” The kid snaps back, and Pete frowns at how offended the boy sounded. Pete straightens up, sits more comfortably in his seat, and holds out a hand.

  “Sup. I'm Pete.” The boy looks disdainfully at Pete's hand, unwilling to shake it.

  “I know who you are,” The boy scowls, clearly annoyed. It is already a month into the semester, and Pete has sat in front of him the entire time. Shouldn't they already know each other's names?

  “Uh, cool,” Pete says, taken aback. He looks down awkwardly at a piece of paper on the boy's desk, searching for a name. He doesn't find one, which is annoying. “What's your name?”

  “Frank Iero,” The boy mutters, his leg shaking with pent up energy. Pete shakes his head, feeling guilty at the light fading from the boy's eyes.

  “Hey, I'm sorry. I should have known that,” Pete admits, trying to get the kid to look at him, “ You're the dude who scored the winning—uh—thing during volley-ball yesterday, right?” Frank gives Pete an amused look, but nods all the same.

  “'Winning Thing'? Well, I guess you could say that. I just slapped it out of my face,” Frank says, waving his hand dismissively. Pete chuckles, and gives a small shrug.

  “Sorry, I don't really play volley-ball. But that sounds like a great defense tactic to me,” Pete admires. Frank shrugs, and hunches over his paper.

  “Yeah,” Frank comments absentmindedly, ready to move on. “So, where do you want to start?” Pete blinks stupidly at his partner.

  “Ah, about that. What the fuck are we doing?” Frank refrains from rolling his eyes.

  “We are supposed to go over our answers. The ones we got from the slide,” Frank says, pointing to his paper. Pete's eyes open wide as he whips around to look at his blank sheet of paper, and then at the projector screen; the teacher had taken the slide show down, and in its place was a digital timer.

  “Ah, dammit,” Pete moans, looking back at Frank with apologetic eyes, “Look, I wasn't paying attention. I'm just really tired, man—I'm so sorry! You'll have to do this without me, I guess.” Great, here's to another failing grade. Pete just hopes that Frank won't get in trouble over it. Frank senses Pete's disappointment, and lets out a small sigh.

  “It's fine, man. Here, just copy mine—I'm pretty sure I got all of those questions right,” Frank didn't sound too sure of himself, but when Pete beamed at him, he decided it was okay. Pete quickly scribbled down answers that closely resembled Frank's, and once he was finished, the two just sat out the rest of the period and talked.

  “So, not to be rude or anything,” Pete begins, and Frank narrows his eyes suspiciously, “But why do you eat lunch alone?”

  Frank just stares at Pete, wondering what he should say. Frank doesn't really have many friends, if he is honest. It's not that he isn't friendly or anything of the sort, he just generally doesn't like people. People are unpredictable. People will turn around and stab you in the back if you look away for even one minute. That fear has always kept Frank from getting close to others, and among other—personal—reasons. Of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to make friends. His motto includes the following: If people don't make friends with you, there is no reason to make the first move. As one would imagine, no one wants to make the first move and be friends with the short punk kid who sits in the back of the room.

  “I don't have any friends in that lunch period,” Frank decides. It wasn't a  _complete_  lie. He didn't have any friends at all—save for an acquaintance or two—therefore he didn't have any friends in lunch. Pete just smiles and gives Frank a poke.

  “Well, now you do!” Pete cheers, and Frank stares at him with surprise.

  “Are you saying you are...my friend?”

  “Yep! You can meet me at the doors to the cafe, if you want,” Pete offers, supplying one of his winning smiles. Frank gives Pete a look of doubt, before nodding.  _Hell, Pete made the first move towards friendship. Might as well take the chance._

  The bell buzzes violently overhead, and Pete pops out of his seat to eagerly shove his things into his bag. Waiting for Frank, the pair turn in the classwork and rush out the door. The hall is teeming with loud teenagers, the sounds of lockers slamming or the curses of students who couldn't open them reach Pete's ears, but he doesn't seem to mind. Pete skips forward, only a bit taller than Frank, eagerly waving to different people. Frank fumbles behind his new friend, not in the mood to get squashed by the brutes around him.

   Pete stops in front of a small group of people, grinning as he gets really close to a boy baring a similar height to Frank.

  “Patrick! How was Pre-Cal?” Pete asks, nudging his friend. Patrick, who is in a  _much_  better mood compared to this morning, gives Pete a thumbs-up.

  “Pete!” Patrick cheers in a similar fashion to his friend, “It was great.” It really wasn't great, but Pete didn't need to know that. Satisfied, Pete turns to the two other boys rummaging in their shared locker next to Patrick.

  “Mikey! Gerard!” Pete yells, his enthusiasm causing a few people to turn and give Pete a weird look.

  “How can you be so excited this early in the morning?” Mikey barks, trying to cram an art textbook onto a pink locker shelf. His brother keeps nervously flitting around Mikey, displeased that the book was about to be nearly damaged. Pete shrugs.

  “Its only Nine-Thirty,” Pete answers, and then jams a thumb at a nervous Frank. “I also made a new friend.” At that, Gerard decided to abandon Mikey; Whatever happened to the book, happened. There was nothing to be done about it.

  “Was this decision yours, kid? Pete is great at annoying people until they become his friend,” Gerard explains, and Pete scowls.

  “That's not true! He totally wants to be my friend!” Pete then turns to Frank, who all but shrinks away. “Right?”

  “Ah, yeah. Friends. We are...that.” Frank twirls his pointer finger counter-clock wise. “Yay?” Gerard laughs whole heartedly, and claps a hand onto Frank's shoulder.

  “Any friend of Pete's is a friend of mine,” Then, Gerard turns to Pete, “Except for that cunt at the breakfast table.” Patrick gasps, his notebooks dropping to the floor. Pete dips down to sweep them in his arms, as Patrick puts his hands on his hips.

  “That's not a very nice word! And Ryan isn't  _that_  bad…”Patrick trails off as Pete holds out the handful of notebooks. Patrick blushes. “Oh, Thanks, Pete.”

  “Cunt! Cunt! Cunt!” Gerard sasses, throwing his hands in the air and cocking a hip. Frank giggles at the boy's excitement.

  “Gerard, calm down,” Mikey grumbles, finally cramming the book into the messy locker. He gives his brother a side ways glance, seemingly confused that anyone could have fun at too-early-o'clock-in-the-morning. The bell screams it's warning above them, and Gerard sends a wink to the still-giggling Frank.

  “Yeah, yeah. Go to class, Moikey.” Gerard demands, ruffling his sibling's hair.

  “Don't call me that,” Mikey whines, pulling away from his brother's affection. Gerard walks in the opposite direction, Frank's eyes following after him. Patrick and Mikey walk into the Science Pod, leaving Frank to scurry after the excited Pete. As the two make a direct bee-line towards the boy's locker rooms, Pete bumps shoulders with Frank.

  “Look at that! Now you have a few new friends,” Pete cheers, before stopping. “Oh, wait, have you met any of them before?” Frank snickers.

  “I have a class with all of them, so I know who they are,” Frank was going to rub it in, since Pete seems to think that Frank is a friendless loser (he doesn't think that), but from the look on Pete's face, Frank decides against it. “Ah, but I've never talked to them before. So thanks?”

  What are you supposed to say when someone helps you make friends? Was it socially acceptable to say thank you? Whether it was or not, Pete didn't seem to mind that he was being thanked, since “Thanks” is a word he hears directed at himself all the time. Pete sure is a nice guy.

  The two quickly get dressed in proper gym attire, and the two go their separate ways. In rows of six, all the students stand on one end of the court in lines, waiting for orders from the Wellness instructor. They spend the better half of the class period doing warm-up exercises and running laps around the gymnasium. Finally, when all the students are sweaty and complaining, the students are allowed to team up to play Volley-ball.

  “Hey Pete!” Pete groans, recognizing the voice. Ryan jogs over, wearing baggy, black sweatpants, and a loose band tee. He pushes his hair away from his face to reveal a grin. “We are on the same team! Maybe now that we have each other, our shitty group will be able to win!” Ryan thumbs behind him, and Pete looks over the group.

  Frank stands unsure in the back, wearing Grey basketball shorts and a blue tank top. Beside him, stand two girls clad in pink, both texting furiously on their smart phones; they have no interest in playing. Leaning against the net—much to the Instructor's disdain—stands an obnoxious boy with thick rimmed glasses and a scowl.

  “Hey, I think we have a great team,” Pete defends meekly, although he isn't sure about his statement. Ryan snorts and tuts his disapproval.

  “Doubt it.” That's the only thing Ryan says before the opposing team are given the ball. Their server gives a powerful  _Whack!_  and the game begins. It starts out with a bunch of giggles from both teams, members yelling “Sorry! The ball is hard to control!” or “I play video games, not sports!”

  After a while, Ryan seemed to get tired of running around while the rest of the team shied away from the ball. For the hundredth time, he chases after the ball when it goes out of bounds. Since no one knew how to play, apparently, the students abandoned the rules and were just hitting the ball back and forth for fun; only Ryan was getting frustrated that no one knew the rules.

  “My wrist is bruised and I'm tired of running after this stupid thing,” Ryan declares, thrusting the ball into Frank's hands. Frank, who had been hanging in the back to avoid action, stared at Ryan with fearful eyes. Ryan begins to push Frank into the right corner, a bit closer to the net. “You serve, and I'll worry about everything else. Don't screw up.”

  Pete gives Frank an encouraging nod (and a quick “Wait!” so one of the girl's could finish her tweet). Frank holds the ball out with one hand, much the same way he had seen Ryan do, before he gently tosses it in the air. He brings his other hand underneath the ball, bopping it cleanly over the net.

  “Nice!” Pete cheers, diving forward as the ball is spiked back over the net. Pete jumps and gives the ball a mighty smack, where it lands hard on the ground. Ryan fist pumps the air, clapping Pete hard on the back.

  “Now  _that_  was a great play!” Ryan admires, and before Frank could feel anything more than fleeting pride, the game had started up again.

* * *

  


**Brendon—10:30 Am**

  Brendon wiggles into a pair of jeans, humming a random tune under his breath as he works to get dressed. Pleased that he has clothes on, he jams his feet into a pair of battered Chucks, before skipping down stairs.

  “I'm gonna have a party!” Brendon sings to himself, very pleased. He grabs the envelope of cash his father had left on the coffee table, before darting out the front door. After checking he had locked the door, he takes off down the road. The best part about living in a cul de sac, Brendon decides, is that his neighborhood is  _just_ down the road from the nearest grocery store.

  After a quick run, and a bit of jay walking, Brendon made it to the Food City in under ten minutes. Brendon cheerfully grabs a shopping cart and swerves down the food isles. He throws random bags of chips into the buggy, along with several 2-liter sodas and assorted snacks. He makes his way across the store—on the back of the cart, may the author add—so he could buy streamers and other party decorations.

  Brendon ends up spending nearly 300 dollars on food and decorations, but he isn't upset. If anything, the amount of money he spent just pleases him even more. It is universally known that the more money you spend, the cooler you are. Right? Since Brendon has no intentions on trying to carry twenty-four bags and a gallon of milk(That wasn't for the Party; Brendon realized he didn't have anything to put in his cereal), Brendon just steals the shopping cart.

  Like an over excited child, Brendon runs as fast as he can, before jumping onto the back of the cart. He lets out a scream of joy as the buggy flies in front of angry drivers and past startled joggers. Brendon is lucky enough to stop the cart before it crashes into the curb, and then he is off again, zooming closer to his house. He pushes the stolen item into the house and sets about to put up groceries and hang the decorations.

  Brendon hangs black streamers from the ceiling, wraps them around the banister as an open invitation to use the bedrooms up stairs (Brendon giggled a bit immaturely at the thought, and then momentarily wonders if he would be using his own bed for the same reason). He makes use of the purple streamers by creating curtains over every door way, and tosses a few on the ground just for the hell of it.

  He spends an hour blowing up colorful balloons, and then another ten minutes searching the garage for his dad's disco ball and a strobe light. He hangs the Ball in the living room(as it's the biggest room in the house), and skillfully hides the strobe light on the mantle, so the light would catch the disco ball just right.

  As Brendon sprinkles confetti over every available surface in the house, Brendon whips out his phone to message Pete.

* * *

  


**11:56 AM**

–

 **Bren_Done:** pete this is an emergency

 **Bren_Done:** text back right now

  


**Pete Wentz:**  dude I'm in pre-cal

 **Pete Wentz:** this better be important

  


**Bren_Done:** its very important, scouts honor.

 **Bren_Done:** do you know where I can get a smoke machine for a cheap price

  


**Pete Wentz:** dude what the fuck

  


**Bren_Done:** I bought a shit ton of cool decorations, but i'm pretty sure i'm missing a smoke machine.

 **Bren_Done:** or a fog machine?

 **Bren_Done:** I don't really know what they are called, but I need one.

  


**Pete Wentz:** do you have decorations up now?

  


**Bren_Done:** yeah, why?

  


**Pete Wentz:** send me a few pictures, so I can decide if a fog machine would be going over board.

 **Pete Wentz:** you don't want to seem like you're trying too hard, you know? Won't look cool.

  


**Bren_Done:**  oh, that makes sense. I knew I kept you around for a reason.

  


**Bren_Done** _is typing…_

  


**Bren_Done** _has sent (_ **10** _) attachments!_

  


**Pete Wentz:** holy shit, your house actually looks cool.

 **Pete Wentz:** yeah, sorry mate, but I think a smoke/fog machine would just cover up your hard work

 **Pete Wentz:** this party might be cool, after all!

  


**Bren_Done:** thank you for your lack of faith.

  


**Pete Wentz:** shut up and actually be thankful, B.

 **Pete Wentz:** I'll have you know that I've already invited a shit ton of people.

 **Pete Wentz:** I went to the bathroom about ten minutes ago and actually heard a few freshman planning on sneaking out to get to the party!

  


**Bren_Done:** don't you mean “Wentz” to the bathroom?

  


**Pete Wentz:** are you fucking kidding me

 **Pete Wentz:** that's the only thing you care about

 **Pete Wentz:** my lack of pun-skills?

  


**Bren_Done** _has changed_ **Pete Wentz** _'s screen name to_ **I Wentz 2 Pee** _._

  


**I Wentz 2 Pee:** are you fucking kidding me.

  


**Bren_Done:** I don't see you changing it.

 **Bren_Done:** but seriously, Thanks Pete.

  


**I Wentz 2 Pee** _has changed his screen name to_ **Thanks Pete** _._

  


**Thanks Pete:** you're welcome.

  


**Bren_Done:** dude, that lacks finesse

  


**Bren_Done** _has changed_ **Thanks Pete** _'s name to_ **Thnks Pt** _._

  


**Thnks Pt:** ah, much better.

 **Thnks Pt:** //sarcasm

 **Thnks Pt:** I gotta go, man. The teacher looks suspicious.

 **Thnks Pt:** i'll see you later.

  


**Bren_Done:** Bye

* * *

  


**Mikey—12:30 Am, 3 rd Period—Trigonometry**

  Mikey slumps in his seat, wishing the damn teacher would show up on time for just  _one_ day in her miserable life. He doesn't much like his teacher.

  “ _Uhg,_ ” Someone voices to Mikey's left, and though his ears perk at the noise, he has no intention on locating who the voice belonged to. “I was stuck in the locker rooms with this fag in 1st today. It was fucking disgusting, being that close to a nasty queer.” Mikey bristles at the slurs, but says nothing.  _Don't get involved,_ a wise voice orders. Instead, Mikey picks at the fraying cover of his textbook.

  “Omg,” A girl whispers, and Mikey cringes. Do people actually say 'OMG' out loud? “Like, what did you do?” Without looking, Mikey can imagine the girl's eyes getting wide, shock on her face.

  “I didn't do anything. That's why I smell so bad—I didn't want to take a shower, knowing that faggot could have been peaking around the corner.”

  “You are so brave, though! That must have been scary!” The girl chirps, and there are a few rumbles of agreement. Mikey closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.

  “No way, it wasn't scary. I mean, sure, all gay people are just fucking perverts, but I could have handled the freak!” The guy boasts, and Mikey begins to shake in anger.  _That isn't true! Those are slurs, insults, you fucking pig! There is nothing wrong with being gay!_  Mikey thinks, now gripping his led pencil to avoid doing something stupid.

  “What would you have done?” Another guy asks, “You know, if he would have come onto you or something.”

  “I'd probably beat his face to a fucking pulp. And then tell Coach that we have a rapist, get him expelled or something. Dirty sinner fucking deserves it—” The boy cuts his sentence off when a pencil smacks him in the jaw. He leaps in surprise, his green eyes looking around dumbly for the object that hit him. Then, the boy's eyes lock with Mikey.  _Fucking Christ, I just hit the school's Pitcher with a fucking Pencil. Oh my god._

  “Did you-Did you just throw a pencil at me?” The guy asks, mouth gaping. Mikey squares his posture, trying to look more confident.

  “No, I didn't,” Mikey states, snootily turning up his nose. The boy grabs the pencil from the ground, stands up, and leans over Mikey.

  “Oh really? Then how did this pencil smack me in the face?” The boy snaps, clenching his fist.

  “That, my friend, is not a pencil,” Mikey shrugs nonchalantly. The boy gives him a look of bemusement.

  “Pray tell, Way. What is it, then?”

  “It's an 'Asshole missile',” Mikey explains, “It has coordinates set so when it's launched, it hits the biggest asshole in the room.” Everyone stares dumbfounded, before a few giggles erupt randomly around the room. Asshole, as Mikey will now so fondly call the boy, growls and shoves Mikey's things off the desk. Mikey just whines in protest.

  “And that, you dumb shit, is why the missile chose you!” Mikey complains.

  “Why the fuck do you think you can talk to me this way, you little skank?” Asshole snarls, and Mikey gives him a confused look.

  “Skank?” Mikey inquires, raising an eyebrow. Asshole nods enthusiastically, and snaps Mikey's pencil.

  “Oh, no, you called me a skank and broke my pencil,” Mikey calls in monotone, shrugging without interest. “I am speaking to you the way you deserve to be spoken to. I bet you that poor kid you're talking about wouldn't touch you with a fucking thirty-foot pole.”

  “I see, you are a fag supporter—which makes you a fag, too!” Asshole cheers, looking around the room to see if someone would challenge him.

  “Dude, where is your logic with that?” Mikey asks, feeling stricken that someone could be such a close minded asshole, “I support vegans, but that doesn't mean I'd give up a steak at any given moment!” Mikey grumbles more under his breath, but Asshole didn't care; he looked as if Christmas arrived early.

  “So you  _do_ like meat!” He guffaws, and Mikey slams a palm to his forehead.

  “I'm surrounded by idiots!” Mikey exclaims, but he loses his attitude when he feels hands grab his shirt and push him to the floor. Mikey groans pitifully, hands reaching out to find his glasses.

  “Do you know what I do to fags like you?” Asshole sneers, and students begin to chant encouragement. Asshole's foot stomps down on Mikey's outstretched wrist, and Mikey yelps.

  “Oh, do you need these glasses?” Asshole asks, faking astonishment as he bends down to pick them up.

  “Yes, I do,” Mikey snarls, glaring blearily at the jerk standing on him.

  “Too bad,” Asshole giggles in a sing-song voice, and the class titters in amusement.

  Frank, who had been sitting in the back of the class, lets out an annoyed huff. Why the fuck is everyone always preying on the little guy? (although, to be fair, Mikey is fucking tall as shit.) Why is everyone always picking on the gay kids? The nerds? The unique and happy? Decisively angry, Frank decides to protect his new friend—well, he hope that Mikey reciprocates friendship, considering their meeting was fleeting today in the hall. Frank grabs his textbook and makes his way to the front of the classroom, where Mikey lies with his hand caught under some asshat's shoe.

  “Hey, dickweed,” Frank barks, and the attention is shifted to him. He stares up at the asshole's face, hoping to look intimidating despite his size.

  “Are you talking to me, freak?” Asshole barks. God, this guy is so fucking clueless.

  “Dude, how thick can you get? Of course I'm talking to you, pecker cheese!” Frank snaps, and points to Mikey's hand. “Get your foot off of him, give me his glasses, and get in your seat; or else I'll stomp your ass all over this school,” Frank orders, puffing out his chest. Asshole grins.

  “Oh really? A small, itty, bitty baby like you is going to hurt  _me?_ ” He laughs. Frank sighs, and plucks Mikey's glasses from the guys hands.

  “Hey!” Asshole snaps as Mikey's free hand reaches for his spectacles to put them on.

  “Last chance to get off of Mikey,” Frank threatens, but the guy digs his toe into Mikey's wrist. There is a soft popping and Mikey lets out a shriek. “You asked for it,” Frank murmurs.

  Frank has always prided himself in being fast, energetic, and skilled at causing damage when he gets excited. Frank has caused many fights, and ended almost all of them without injury. He tackles people for the hell of it, just because no one suspects him, and he is just too fast. So, it was no surprise that Frank is able to successfully ram a knee into this asshole's stomach.

  The guy doubles over, coughing, when Frank swings his textbook and brings it up into Asshole's nose. The guy rights himself from the impact, only to teeter backwards and stumble into another student's lap. He holds his shirt to his nose, trying to staunch the steady stream of blood. Frank steps over discarded bags, and he lashes out, grabbing the boy by his curly blond hair.

  “Treat others how you want to be treated,” Frank hisses, “Well, I guess you did just that. Get out of here now. If you pick on Mikey again, and I hear about it, I will erase the white board with your bloody face, got it?”

  “You're fucking insane!” The guy moans, tears squeezing from his eyes.

  “You're damn right I am,” Frank snarls. Then, as if nothing happened, Frank walks back to his desk, sets his book down, and continues the homework assignment he decided to not finish yesterday. No one dared look at him, and when the bully scurried from the classroom, everyone began nattering away once more, no longer interested in the fight.

  As Frank pecks numbers into his calculator, he senses a presence hovering next to him. Looking over, he makes eye contact with Mikey.

  “Hey,” Mikey says, sticking out his hand. His wrist is red and swelling a bit, and Frank could almost swear the dirty imprints of a shoe were marked on the boy's flesh. “I'm Mikey Way. I think we met in the hallway after 1st.”

  “Yes, we did,” Frank approves, gingerly taking Mikey's fingers, “I'm Frank.”

  “Well, Thanks for helping me out,” Mikey sounds awkward as they let go of each other, and Frank shrugs.

  “No problem, man. That 'asshole missile' thing was funny,” Frank compliments, and apparently he said the right thing. Mikey beams and shoos a kid out of her seat so he could sit next to Frank. The girl gets up without complaint, and the boys chat easily after that.  _If I knew that was how you make friends, I would have done it much sooner,_ Frank thinks.

  Twenty minutes late to class, the teacher rushes inside, much to no-one's surprise. She apologizes for being late, and then makes amends by not teaching a lesson, and instead lets the students chat quietly as they finish whatever homework they didn't finish.

  The bell rings, meaning it was time for Frank to go meet Pete and not eat lunch alone. The thought makes Frank feel warm inside.

  “Hey, do you have lunch now? We can eat together if you want,” Mikey suggests, and Frank chews his lip, where a clear spacer kept his piercing hole from healing over.

  “Well, I promised Pete I'd eat with him...” Frank trails off, guilty. Mikey just laughs as they trod down the hallway.

  “I'll be eating at his table too. Guess you'll be sitting with me after all,” Mikey snickers. Frank chuckles along with his new friend.

* * *

  


** Frank—12:50, 3 rd  Lunch **

  Frank, Pete and Mikey sit in the very back of the room, at a table that Pete claims he eats breakfast at, too. (“If you're interested, feel free to sit with us!”) Pete chats idly with Frank, explaining that the guy from second period—Ryan—will probably try to eat with them, and to not be upset. Mikey, however, wasn't listening, nor did he care; he was busy texting his brother.

  “Moikey, dearest,” Pete jokes, throwing a raw baby carrot at his friend, “The first day eating at my table and you ignore me!” Mikey scowls, and sets his phone down.

  “Sorry, man. I'm just texting Gerard.”

  “Yeah?” Pete prompts, and Mikey nods.

  “Yeah,” He repeats. “He heard about that asshole from third period, and he's on an absolute rampage. He is trying to get to lunch, but I doubt he can get out of class to—”

  “Mikey Way!” A voice screams, and said person startles out of his seat(Much to his friend's entertainment).

  “Gerard?” Mikey gasps, peering over his seat to see his brother dash in between tables, trying to get to the one in the back. People stare with confusion before deciding they weren't interested. Frank visibly shrinks as Gerard stomps angrily over, the teen barring his teeth and his fists angrily clenched.

  “Did that bastard hurt you? Is anything bruised? If there is a  _single_ hair out of place, I'll kill him!” Gerard snaps, grabbing Mikey off the ground and fussing over him. Frank looks on with huge, frightened doe eyes, wondering if he should speak up or not. Technically, Frank saved Mikey's life, right? But would Gerard see it like that?

  “Gerard, Gerard. Gee.  _Gee_ ,” Mikey tries to attain his brother's attention, and when he doesn't, he swats angrily at concerned hands. “Gerard!”

  “What!” Gerard yelps back, forehead creased in worry. Mikey's expression softens and he sighs.

  “I'm fine, thanks to Frank. Frank totally kicks ass, and he is basically my hero,” Mikey boasts, and Frank feels his face flush.

  “Frank?” Gerard inquires, looking over at the smaller teen. Gerard's face lights up. “Oh! You, I saw you in the hall today! And we have fourth together!” Frank almost fainted.  _The_ Gerard Way  _noticed_ him! Frank isn't going to lie when he says he has the biggest crush on Gerard. So the fact that Gerard even remembered that he has typing with Frank nearly made his heart skip a few beats.

  “Yeah, uh—yeah.” Frank's brain was not working properly, and Pete seemed be the only one who noticed. The dear King of Emo smirks evilly into his water bottle, before scooting over one seat. He swallows his drink before speaking.

  “Gerard, man, sit next to me. Specifically here,” Pete says, patting the seat. He gives Frank a wink when Gerard shrugs and plops down beside of Frank. The conversation casually continues, but Frank was too busy wondering if anyone could hear his heart pounding.  _It's just a crush, on a normal boy. Don't freak out, stay cool, Iero!_

  The only problem with this little mantre Frank had come up with, is that Gerard isn't just a normal boy; Gerard was fucking enticing as hell to Frank. Those eyes, his face shape, his way with words, how well he pulls off platinum hair; Frank is absolutely smitten. Frank has had a crush on Gerard since his sophomore year of high school. Particularly when Gerard's band played at the talent show, and Gerard had stared at Frank during the entire song. (A song Frank was  _sure_  was about sex.) They certainly didn't know each other's names, but Frank was completely star-struck anyways.

  So yeah, Frank is absolutely head over heels for a boy he has only ever talked to today. At least we are getting somewhere.

  “Shouldn't you be in Pre-Cal or something?” Mikey questions his brother, bringing Frank back to the present. Frank scowls at his silliness, mentally shaking away his thoughts. Who cares if Frank has a crush? It's not like Gerard likes boys anyways, much less Frank.

  “Probably, but I had to check on my little bro,” Gerard says dismissively, “and of course, his hero Frankie.” Once again, Frank nearly keeled over. Gerard gives Frank an appreciative pat on the back, and Frank's thoughts scatter.  _Did he call me Frankie? Did he touch me? Ohmygodgetaholdofyourself._

  “'Frankie'?” Pete gasps, “Holy shit, that sounds so cute!”

  “Cute nickname, for a cute person” Gerard shrugs, and Frank thought he was going to die. Pete had a knowing grin, and finally Mikey was catching on.

  “Oo, Gerard thinks a boy is cute!” Mikey teases, and Gerard laughs. Is Frank going to die? He feels like he is going to die.

  “Of course I do, I'm gay, dipwad.” Yep. Frank is going to die.

  “This sounds like a dialogue from a shitty fanfic,” Pete chokes, unable to hide his laughter.

  “This entire day sounds like a shitty fanfic,” Frank states, flustered and pleased.

  “How about I make the plot?” Gerard asks, much to everyone's confusion. Gerard scoops Frank's back pack off of the floor, and digs around for paper and pencil. He scribbles something down in a notebook and pushes it towards Frank. “Text me soon, will you? I won't be in Fourth.”

  Then, Gerard stands to leave.

  “Holy shit,” Pete giggles, covering his mouth with his shirt as he laughs. Mikey rolls his eyes.

  “That's Just like my brother. He is so dramatic, what the fuck?” Frank stared after Gerard's retreating form.

  “Hey, there's going to be a party tomorrow at Brendon's, Frank. Ask Gerard to go,” Pete insists. Frank, who still was too caught up in his thoughts—or lack there of—didn't seem to mind when Pete grabbed the pen and paper to write down his own phone number, and the address for Brendon's house. Mikey jots his number below Pete's, shaking his head.

  “I guess we have all had an interesting day, huh?” Mikey mutters, standing to throw his lunch away when the five-minute bell rings. Pete follows in suit, and Frank—who didn't even go through the line—gathers his things back into his bag. He doesn't say so out loud, but he agrees with Mikey.

* * *

 


	2. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party, party, party. That's all that is on Brendon's mind tonight  
> Well, that, and Dallon Weekes. Brendon gets a bit drunk and is in the middle of running away from his ex when Dallon swoops up and saves the day.  
> Shenanigans ensue.  
> References are made.  
> People are sassy and drunk.  
> Never threaten Brendon with a good time.  
> (I can't EVEN begin to tell you how many references from interviews/music videos/song lyrics/movie i was able to fit in here. I'm so proud of myself tbh. Can you catch them all?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> -Crude Language  
> -(underage)Alcohol usage  
> -implied/referenced drug use  
> -implied/referenced (underage) sexual content  
> STAY SAFE.  
> -  
> **PAY ATTENTION TO TIME CHANGES. THE PARTY WILL BE SORT OF LIKE A FLASHBACK, SO TO AVOID CONFUSION, MAKE SURE YOU PAY ATTENTION TO TIME SKIPS, POV SWAPS, ETC.**  
> \--  
> //I bet you can't guess which of these are REAL conversations I've had with my own friends. I'm not even oking. I like to write about things that happen to me/friends/family members. Makes situations more real, yanno?

**9:42 AM—Saturday, September 3 rd**

–

**Bren_Done** _is typing…_

**Bren_Done:** good morning, emo king!

 **Bren_Done:** c'mon wakey wakey eggs and get the fuck up~

 **Bren_Done:** pete

 **Bren_Done:** pete

 **Bren_Done:** petepetepetepete

 **Bren_Done:** :(

  


**ThnksPt** _is typing…_

**ThnksPt:** Bren, please stop waking me up with this damn chat.

 **ThnksPt:** why do you want to bother me so bad?

  


**Bren_Done:** PETE! :D

  


**ThnksPt:** FOREHEAD!

  


**Bren_Done:** that was uncalled for…

  


**ThnksPt:** just like you waking me early on a Saturday.

 **ThnksPt:** *sips tea*

  


**Bren_Done:** do you even drink tea, you piss flap

  


**ThnksPt:** piss flap

  


**Bren_Done:** im sorry

 **Bren_Done:** just a little nervous.

 **Bren_Done:** you didn't invite ryan, right?

  


**ThnksPt** _is typing…_

**ThnksPt:** of course I didn't invite that prat

 **ThnksPt:** I wouldn't have done that to you.

 **ThnksPt:** althooooough…. ;)

  


**Bren_Done:** Pete what did you do

  


**ThnksPt:** I DID invite that really cute tall guy you use to hang out with.

 **ThnksPt:** you know, Devin Weed or whatever his name is

  


**Bren_Done:** dALLON WEEKES

  


**ThnksPt:** oh, is that his name?

 **ThnksPt:** lol yeah him

 **ThnksPt:** I remember that you had a huge crush on him in eighth grade

 **ThnksPt:** you should have seen his face when I asked him to come.

  


**Bren_Done:** tELL ME EVERYTHING

  


**ThnksPt** _is typing…_

**ThnksPt:** Okay, so I found him in the hallway on my way to third, and I was like “lol thats right, Brendon likes this giraffe.” so I kinda pulled him aside and was all like

 **ThnksPt:** “theres a really cool party tomorrow at nine pm wanna go”

 **ThnksPt:** but he was all like “I dont party man sorry”

 **ThnksPt:** so I go “duuuudee, its a party with Brendon Urie! He's the host, fam”

 **ThnksPt:** and Legs goes “O wait rlly? Yeah sure thing. Brendon Urie is cool.” (Those were totally his exact words)

 **ThnksPt:** and I say “O shit I kno lol. Does that mean youre gonna show up?”

 **ThnksPt:** Granddaddy-long-legs goes “You'll see me for sure.” And so I wrote your address and my phone number on paper for him.

  


**Bren_Done:** wow, you have superb story-telling skills.

  


**ThnksPt:** I know lol thanks

  


**Bren_Done:** BUT HOLY SHIT HE WILL BE AT MY PARTY?

 **Bren_Done:** That boy literally is daddy material I mean damn

  


**ThnksPt:** oh ew cmon dude why

 **ThnksPt:** the daddy kink freaks me out a little bit

  


**Bren_Done:** at least I'm not a furry

  


**ThnksPt:** fIRsT OF ALL

 **ThnksPt:** I'm NOT a furry!

 **ThnksPt:** Second, it's not nice to kink shame anyone. Whatever gets someone off, gets them off.

  


**Bren_Done:** then don't mess with my daddy kink ok

  


**ThnksPt:** uhg whatever

 **ThnksPt:** can we talk about something that isnt your kinks and not-kinks?

  


**Bren_Done:** I dont really have anything else to say

 **Bren_Done:** I just wanted to see if you were awake this morning lol

  


**ThnksPt:** listen here, you bottle of laxatives

 **ThnksPt:** youre telling me you woke me up for the sole purpose of being an ass crumb

 **ThnksPt:** because thats what you are

 **ThnksPt:** an ass crumb

  


**Bren_Done:** dude that's fuckin nasty

 **Bren_Done:** but yeah lol

 **Bren_Done:** I'm gonna hop off here and get ready for tonight. You need to find a date

 **Bren_Done:** like, yanno, Patrick. He's adorable. Go with him

  


**ThnksPt:** Bren, he's just my friend

  


**Bren_Done:** and youre just in denial. Ask him!

 **Bren_Done:** bye!

* * *

  


**Pete—9:55 A** **M**

  
  Pete drops his phone onto his pillow and lets out a frustrated noise. _Damn Brendon,_ Pete sulks, pouting. He was absolutely right about how in denial Pete is about Patrick. _He's also right about how adorable 'Trick is..._ Pete lets out another noise in protest.

  “Okay, I'm just gonna ask him,” Pete encourages himself, pulling up into a sitting position. Pete begins to mess with his fringe, trying to fix it, before realizing he had no reason to—he's just going to call Patrick to avoid face-to-face rejection.

  “Yeah, that's the spirit. No embarrassment in getting rejected over the phone,” Pete whispers sarcastically. Before Pete could talk himself out of it, he grabs his phone again and dials Patrick's number—the phone rings three times before it abruptly stops. A shuffling sound and then a breathy sigh reaches Pete's ears.

  “Pete, it's not even ten-thirty yet,” Patrick croaks on the other line, and Pete feels his face warm up. _Why does 'Trick have such an attractive morning voice?_

  “Uh, I-Well, I am—you, I?” Pete is scrambling to find something to say. His heart thunders in his chest.

  “Pete, you're not making any sense,”Patrick complains, his voice slightly muffled.

  “Yes—yes I am! I mean, I guess I'm not? I just wanted to, you know, uh?”

  “Why are you acting so nervous? It's me you are talking to!” The boy chastises, sounding a bit more awake.

  “Nervous? Nah, I'm not nervous. You're nervous!” Pete yelps into the receiver, cringing.

  “Just spit out what you need to say. I wanna go back to bed.”

  “Okay, okay. Fine,” Pete begins, squeezing his eyes shut, “Will you go to Brendon's party with me tonight?”

  Patrick is quiet for a moment. “Dude, I was already going to his party. You invited everyone within a five foot radius, every ten minutes.”

  “W-well, I want you to go—” Pete swallows his embarrassment “—with me. As my, you know, my date...thing?”

  “Your 'Date Thing'?” Patrick asks in amusement, and Pete scowls silently.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure, Pete. I'll go as your Date Thing. You're driving, by the way. Pick me up at eight.”

  “Really?” Pete gasps, and he hears a sleepy chuckle in answer.

  “See you tonight, Pete. Good bye.”

  “Bye!” Pete couldn't get his farewell out quick enough, because Patrick had already hung up. Pete fist pumps the air before pulling his phone from his ear and staring at the small screen. His fingers do a strange dance as they hover over different apps, before he finds the one that will open the group chat.

* * *

 

**10:10 AM—Same day**

**ThnksPt:** Bren! Patrick is gonna be my date thing! Holy shit!

 **ThnksPt:** Thank you for being a dick and telling me I was in denial

 **ThnksPt:** if you didn't, I would have never grew the balls to ask him

 **ThnksPt:** I'll see you later, friendo

* * *

  


**Frank Iero—11:30 AM**

  
  “I can't do this, I can't do this!” Frank panics, throwing his hands into the air as he paces the living room. His mother peers over her bowl of afternoon-cereal with a perplexed expression. She curls her legs underneath herself and swallows.

  “Frankie, you _can_. It's just a boy.”

  “Mom, you don't understand! Gerard isn't _just_ a boy!” Frank moans dramatically, covering his face with the back of his hands. “He is like, the most popular kid at school! He's basically famous, you know.”

  “I do know—you never shut up about him,” His mother grumbles under her breath. Frank talks about this so-called Gerard all the time. _'He looked me in the eye while singing at the talent show,' 'He said hello to me in the hall,' 'Gerard won the art show again,' 'He likes my new sweater—he said so himself!'_

  Gerard actually isn't popular at all. He has his fair share of bullies and his friend count isn't really that high. If people hear his name, they think _'Oh, that white haired kid with that band thing'_ or _'the guy who wears eyeliner and draws comics instead of listening to the teacher'_. But to Frank, Gerard is really something special.

  “I heard that!” Frank pouts, trying to glare at his mother.

  “Hon, he really isn't that popular I'm sure—?”

  “Yes he is! He is basically famous for all of his artwork. Also, he is in such a _cool_ band, and he's so nice and pretty,” Frank says wistfully, looking starstruck. His mother couldn't help it; she burst out laughing.

  “What's so funny?” Frank snaps, balling up his fists. Mother waves her hands in dismissal.

  “I'm sorry, Frankie, I'm sorry. You're usually just so...sarcastic and indifferent until it comes to talking about your crush—“

  “It's not a crush!”

  “—and it's absolutely adorable.”

  “You know how I feel about being called 'adorable', mom,” Frank reminds her, pacing again.

  “Really? I wonder how you would feel if Gerard called you adorable?” Frank nearly trips over his own feet.

  “Mom!” He yells, which causes her to burst into laughter again. She stands from the couch, deciding that her cereal was no longer appealing. Mother ruffles her son's hair as she treads past, much to his disdain.

  “Just text and ask, darling. It's not going to go nearly as bad as you think.” With that, the woman walks barefoot from the living room and into the kitchen, to put away her bowl. Frank falls onto the couch, leaning against the plush armrest as he figures out how to start his text.

 **Frank Iero:** hey, is this Gerard Way's number? It's Frank Iero

  Frank presses send before he could change his mind, and then he throws the mobile device across the couch; it lands at his feet as he covers his face again. Frank's heart jumps into his throat when his phone notifies him that he has received a new message. He scrambles to grab his phone, and in his haste, his arm slips off the edge of the couch; Frank face plants the arm rest.

 **Unknown Number:** yes, this is Gerard

 **Unknown Number:** hey Frankie:)

  Frank quickly saves the number into his contact list, while rubbing his sore nose.

 **Frank Iero:** Hey! Do you want to go to a party with me tonight?

  The response text was almost immediate.

 **Gerard W. :** Aw, man! I was going to be the first to ask you on a date:/ Looks like you beat me to it.

 **Gerard W. :** sure thing, Frankie. But I get to drive

  Frank lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, before his nervously twitching fingers flutter over his keyboard.

 **Frank Iero:** sick!

  Damn, that was too enthusiastic.

 **Frank Iero:** and...date?

 **Gerard W. :** Yes mam. I think you're cute, and I wanted to go on a date with you. Next time, I am asking, and I get to choose the place.

 **Frank Iero:** Mam? Excuse you. And who ever said there would be a 'next time'?

 **Gerard W. :** I hope there will be a next time.

 **Frank Iero:** you sure are a bold guy

 **Gerard W. :** ;)

  Frank tries not to freak out, and he is mid-fangirl attack when his mother trots back into the room, dressed in her work clothes. She places a hand on her cocked hip, staring at him with raised brows.

  “Frank? What's going on?” She implores.

  “Gerard wants this to be a date! Holy shit!”

  “Frank Iero! If I hear you say that word again, I will pop your mouth!” His mother gasps, and Frank looks down at his lap sheepishly.

  “Sorry, mom,” He mutters, scratching at the nape of his neck. His mother walks over and kisses her son's forehead, not really angry at him.

“I forgive you. I'm heading out, now. You be good at that party, and you better be home by midnight, understood? I love you.”

  “Love you too,” Frank repeats absentmindedly as his fingers work on a reply. Frank hears his mother walk out the door, and then the car pulls out of the drive way.

 **Frank Iero:** so what time will you be here? The party starts at 9

 **Gerard W. :** Do you know where the Party is? It depends on how long it will take to get there from your house. Speaking of, I need to know where you live.

 **Frank Iero:** oh, yeah, sorry.

 **Frank Iero:** My house, according to Google Maps, is just a ten minute drive to Brendon's.

* * *

 

**Brendon—8:30 Am—Sunday, September 4 Th(after the party)**

  
  The first thing Brendon is aware of when he awakens, is that he is surely hungover. His mind pounds to the beat of his heart, and his stomach lurches. The second thing he is aware of? Brendon isn't alone in his bed. With a small groan, Brendon slowly sits up so as to not disturb his new friend or his stomach. Then, he begins to assess the damage.

  He squints against the harsh light streaming through his window, not daring to look to his left just yet, while trying to ignore the fact that he probably lost his virginity last night. With a heavy heart, he creeps off of his bed, nearly choking when he is exposed. Brendon is bare to the world, and looking down upon himself, he finds he has several bruises— _hickies?—_ making a pretty path down his chest and to his naked thighs. Brendon abruptly looks up, mind reeling and stomach clenching.

  Brendon makes his way to his dresser and quickly pulls on a random shirt and some basketball shorts, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. When he is dressed, he composes himself before turning around to face whoever was still sleeping under his covers.

  The person under his bedsheets has a slight figure, as far as Brendon can tell, and they seem to be rather tall. Brendon turns back on his heel, gripping his dresser with shaking hands. He stands like that for few minutes, trying not to throw up or cry. A yawn alerts Brendon to the fact he isn't the only one awake anymore, and the boy slowly faces his lover.

_Oh god, lover? Oh god, Oh god._

  “Good morning.” Brendon nearly keels over at the sight of Dallon Weekes rubbing sleep from his eyes. Dallon Fucking Weekes sits up _,_ the blanket falling and revealing _pretty love bites._ Pretty Love bites that _Brendon_ created.

  Brendon couldn't even hope to hide his shock, but managed to keep from crying.

  “Uh,” Brendon starts, bringing his shaking hands to his chest, “good morning?”

  Dallon only replies with another yawn, while Brendon forces himself to relax.

  “Okay, I don't want to seem insensitive, or like a total jerk, but I was fucked all to hell last night—” Wrong choice of words, “—I mean, o-on alcohol. I was drunk, very drunk! And I may have done drugs?” Brendon's voice went up an octave, and Dallon looks more awake, and very concerned. Brendon inhales through his nose, before slowly exhaling through his mouth.

  “Did we...did we have sex last night?” Brendon asks, playing with his fingers. Dallon seems confused for a moment, before he realizes what situation the pair were in.

  “Oh,” Dallon murmurs, peeking under the sheets. He emerges a bit red in the face, pulling the blankets over his lap to cover himself. “Yes, we did.”

  “Oh, Oh god, okay. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—I mean, I'm sorry you got stuck with me? I'm sorry if you didn't want to, and I'm sorry I don't remember much! Oh god,” Brendon sucks in a quick breath, shaking all over. What the boy certainly didn't expect was for Dallon to begin giggling.

  “Don't be sorry. I also never said I _didn't_ want to hook up.” Dallon admits, smiling at Brendon.

  “Well,” Brendon had no idea what to say, so the two sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.

  “I should probably introduce myself,” Brendon finally decides. Dallon smiles again, looking bashfully at his lap.

  “I remember who you are,” He replies sheepishly, and Brendon flushes.

  “I know,” Brendon curses, feeling like an idiot, “I just don't know what to say.”

  “Hey, If it helps any,” Dallon begins, “It would seem that you Top.” Brendon's eyes get wide and he tries to laugh off his embarrassment. Although he would be a liar if he said that didn't make him feel better.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Well, it's my butt that hurts,” Dallon snickers, and Brendon's eyebrows raise so high they touch his hair line(quite a feat, considering his forehead is a mile long).

  “I—I have to go and check downstairs,” Brendon stutters instead, looking down. “I'm sure last night was, you know, fucking amazing, but—Look, I'm sorry to do a hit-and-run,” Brendon physically cringes at his choice of words, “but I have to go make sure my house isn't destroyed. There's a shower down the hall...feel free to use it.”

  “Brendon, It's alright,” Dallon soothes, understanding, “Go on down. I'll join you soon.” Brendon didn't know what to do other than nod as he races out of his bedroom.

  The hallway is full of passed out people, discarded paper plates, and condom wrappers. As Brendon clambers over people, he checks to make sure his parent's bedroom hadn't been touched, and was relieved to find that the door still had an intact padlock.

  If Brendon thought the hallways were bad, nothing prepared him for the scene that awaits on the first floor. Brendon nearly faints as he stares over the banister to see hundreds of people sleeping on the ground or furniture. Confetti coats every surface, streamers were pulled down and littered the floor, solo cups lie like forgotten souls, and Brendon is pretty damn sure his father's favourite lamp is broken.

  Brendon bolts to the first floor, taking two steps at a time. He kicks guests aside, telling them to wake up and go home—“No, I _haven't_ seen your friend! Get out!”—while ultimately searching for Pete. Finally, Brendon finds Pete languidly stretched behind the couch with Patrick Stump curled to his chest. Brendon drops to his knees and begins to gently shake his friend's shoulder.

  “Pete?” Brendon whispers, “Pete, please wake up, it's important!” Brendon's urgency wasn't enough to keep Pete out of his drug induced sleep, so Brendon shoves him so hard that Pete's head bumped the couch.

  “Pete! Wake up!” Brendon whisper-yells, his words catching in his throat.

  “What—?” Pete moans, blinking hard. He stares around him with glossy eyes.

  “Pete, please get up!” Brendon pleads, “There are, like, a bazillion people in my house—which is destroyed! I don't know anyone, I can only remember bits and pieces of last night, and I woke up to find out I lost my virginity, and, and!” Brendon couldn't finish, for now he was openly sobbing.

  “Wait, what? Are you okay? Shit,” Pete seems to finally get it, and begins to shake the strawberry-blond sprawled across him. “Patrick? Pat? Hey, 'Trick, I need you to get up, now.”Pete ushers, and Patrick sleepily rolls off of his Date Thing. Patrick leans against the back of the couch, adjusting his glasses and unaware of the situation.

  Pete hops into a crouch, before grabbing Brendon and tugging him into a hug. Brendon crumbles against Pete's chest, crying in embarrassment.

  “Hey, Hey. Are you okay?” Pete asks again, trying to retain a soft voice. “Did they force you? Did they—God forbid— _hurt_ you?” Pete lowers his voice as he glares at the floor. Brendon pulls away a bit, sniffling hard and dragging a hand beneath his eyes.

  “I'm fine, I think,” Brendon mutters, “I'm just surprised, mostly. He was very kind to me this morning when we both woke up—”

  “Do you know him?” Pete intervenes, and Brendon feels his face boil.

  “Ah, yes. I do.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “ _Brendon Boyd Urie,”_ Pete prompts in warning, and Brendon scowls.

  “Don't use my middle name,” Brendon stalls, and one look from Pete urges him to continue. “Fine, fine. It was Dallon.” The shock on his best friend's face would have been funny, if it wasn't for the problem at hand. Patrick clears his throat, causing the embracing friends to give their attention.

  “That is almost understandable, all things considering,” Patrick says wisely, and Brendon tilts his head in confusion.

  “How?”

  “Do you not remember what happened? I suppose not. Unlike the rest of you, I didn't become nearly as intoxicated, or even touch any drugs.”

  “Look, memories tend to just pop up,” Brendon begins, flinching. “but if you know something, please enlighten me.”

* * *

 

**Brendon—8:50 PM—Saturday, September 3** **rd** **(the previous night)**

  
  Brendon taps his cane smartly against the floor, admiring his reflection in the mirror before him. He wears an attractive black suit with a burgundy tie, and an equally attractive black hat. Brendon figures he doesn't really need the cane, it just really pulls the outfit together. (He also feels like a king, so your argument is invalid.)

  The doorbell chimes, and Brendon excitedly darts downstairs. He hesitates in front of the door, casting a final glance around him to be sure the house looks as he wants it to. Then, taking a deep breath, he tugs the door open and is greeted by over fifty guests. Pete stands in front of the group, with Patrick Stump holding onto his arm, both practically beaming at Brendon.

  “Hey, Bren!” Pete cheers. Brendon just smiles in response and steps to the side, sweeping his cane across the threshold to welcome his guests. Though it was certainly cheesy, the guests seemed to love it as they file in behind Pete. When everyone gets inside, Brendon is prepared to shut the door until someone shouts for him to keep it open. As Brendon peers outside, hundreds of people begin walking towards his house. Cars fill his driveway and even pull into his yard or park down the street.

  Brendon gulps audibly, stepping anxiously away from the door. Before the host could even think of greeting the new arrivals, he hears the music being turned up. Brendon lets out a grunt of disapproval before scrambling into the living room to see which asshole messed with his stereo system.

  Bounding into the living area, the host is met with swaying bodies, swells of laughter, and obnoxious cheers; everyone is clearly enjoying themselves. The lights are dimmed overhead, and a small commotion to the left of the room brings Brendon from his mission of music hi-jacking. Four boys stand in the archway to the kitchen, bearing a bottle of champagne. Before Brendon could stop them, the cork is wrestled from the bottle; the beverage sprays the guests, and there are squeals and roars of approval.

  “Hey, you're the host, yeah? This party is pretty cool!” One Party-Goer yells to Brendon, and the host flushes. Brendon is pushed along by some dancing girls, all of which who want to get a chance to dance with the host. He gives up trying to stop everyone from having fun, grinning as two girls squirm around him in pitiful attempts at dancing.

  “If you can't beat them,” Brendon murmurs, beginning to dance, “join them.”

 

* * *

 

**Frank—10:25 PM**

  
  The music is lit as fuck, or so Frank believes. Hell, everything is lit as fuck; Plenty of people have chatted with him (a few who remembered his bravery in third period, yesterday), and he has an amazing guy standing by his side.

  “Are you having fun?” Gerard asks for maybe the hundredth time. Frank smiles, not even slightly annoyed by the repeated question.

  “Fuck yeah. I didn't know parties could actually be cool!” Frank laughs, and the look Gerard gives Frank made the butterflies in his stomach flutter. Honestly, Gerard looks at Frank as if the boy held whole universes in his eyes, and Gerard constantly made sure Frank knew it.

  “Well, I need to go outside for a moment. Do you want to follow?” Gerard offers his hand to Frank. Frank smirks before taking Gerard's warm hand and the two swerve through the grinding bodies, past drunken girls dancing sloppily on tables, and through the kitchen to the back door.

  The sun had already went down about thirty minutes ago, and all that's left behind are lonely clouds and endless stars. The night is a bit cold, and a soft breeze rolls around Frank, who lets go of Gerard's hand and crosses his arms.

  “Will it bother you if I smoke?” Gerard asks, digging in his jacket pocket for a pack of camels—not his preferred brand, but they do the job. Gerard smacks the pack against the heel of his hand before unwrapping the package and putting the nicotine stick between his thin lips. He searches for his lighter, but came up short; he mutters curses with a quiet tongue.

  “Here,” Frank offers, pulling his own lighter from his back pocket. Gerard glances over and looks at Frank with mild surprise.

  “You smoke too?” Gerard inquires as he takes the little black lighter, but he needn't ask; Frank was already sticking a menthol into his mouth. “Ah, I suppose it wont bother you then.”

  Frank holds his hand out for his lighter to light his own cigarette, but Gerard reached out and lit it for him. Frank sucks in a bit as Gerard's fingers shield the small flame, nodding in thanks when the action was complete.

  “I'm glad you smoke too, I was dying for this,” Frank claims, blowing smoke around the stick in his mouth. His hands work on warming his arms, the cigarette working on warming his lungs with smoke.

  “Are you cold?” Gerard questions. He shrugs off his leather jacket, not bothering for an answer. He holds his cigarette between his lips as he wraps Frank up into warm fabric. Frank pulls the jacket tightly around his shoulders, before slipping his arms into the sleeves.

  “Thank you,” Frank sighs gratefully. Gerard blows a smoke cloud in front of him.

  “Of course. I can't have my little Frankie turning into a block of ice!” Gerard says, in mock surprise. Frank rolls his eyes, chewing contemplatively on the butt of his cigarette before glaring.

  “I'm not little!” Frank decides indignantly. Gerard's lips tug into a playful smile as he bends a bit so he can level his gaze with his companion.

  “I dunno, Frankie. You are a bit small.”

  “No, everyone is just a bunch of tall mutants.”

  “Including me?”

  “Yes,” Frank says wisely, trying to ignore how close Gerard's face is to his own.

  “How do you feel about these so called mutants, then?” Gerard wonders, surprising Frank a bit. The shorter of the two looks down, trying to come up with an answer.

  “They are all evil! Tall, tall monsters, honestly. They want to step on me, you know,” Frank states sagely, “They like to push me around in the halls, because I'm easy to miss.” Well, there was quite a bit of truth to what Frank says, and Gerard's dark eyes soften.

  “Well, I guess I'll just have to be one of the good monsters; I'll walk you to class, if you want.” Gerard begins, “I will protect my little—sorry, normal sized—Frankie.” Frank nervously puts his cigarette to his mouth, taking a slow drag before exhaling the smoke through his nose. Here Frank is, telling a boy he hardly knows about how he gets pushed around in the hallway sometimes. Here Frank stands, wearing the boy's jacket and getting the offer to be protected. _Gerard wants to spend time with me._

  “I would like that,” Frank agrees bashfully, mentally chastising himself for being so awkward.

  “Neato,” Gerard says, which makes Frank laugh. “Say, Frankie? Do you think you can scoot closer? It's nippy outside,” Gerard says sheepishly, taking a final puff of his cigarette before putting it out and stuffing it into his pack. Frank nods, putting his out as well and flicking it into the dew-coated lawn.

  “That wasn't very sanitary to do! Think of the environment!” Gerard gasps jokingly.

  “I know, so wrong. I'm a bad boy,” Frank snickers. Gerard peers down at Frank with a devilish expression. He slips his hands into Frank's borrowed jacket, wrapping his arms around Frank's waist and pulling him close.

  “A bad boy, huh? I'd like to see that sometime, Frankie.” Gerard suggests, and Frank tries to convince himself that the chill that tingles down his spine is from the icy air.

  Frank laughs nervously in response, but abruptly stops when Gerard leans down. His mouth is just a breath away from Frank's.

  “Aren't we going a bit fast?” Frank asks, and he can nearly feel Gerard smile. Of course, fast means nothing to Frank at the moment. Honestly, Frank wouldn't mind a single bit if Gerard gave him, say, a small kiss. Yeah, that would be normal, nice, and not scary.

  “That's probably true,” Gerard agrees, moving his mouth up to kiss the tip of Frank's cold nose instead. Frank couldn't hide his disappointment, and Gerard laughs at the dejected look on his companion's face.

  “Why so down-trodden, Frankie?” Said person just _Harrumph_ _s_ in reply, so Gerard leans down to pepper even more butterfly kisses onto Frank's steadily reddening face.

  “Sh-shut up!” Frank barks, only to have his protests drowned by more cheek, forehead and nose kisses.

  “Sorry Frankie,” Gerard breathes, bringing the teen closer to his chest. “I just can't help it, you're so _adorable_.” Frank nearly trips backwards. He called Frank adorable...and Frank _loves_ it.

* * *

 

**Brendon—11:05 Pm**

  
  Brendon meanders by couples and friends swaying to the beat of some song he had never heard of.

  It was a couple hours into the party and there are a lot more people than the host had anticipated on inviting. Sure, Brendon asked Pete to invite the whole school, but Brendon didn't think he _actually would!_ Furthermore, Brendon has never even seen some of the people here, so he assumes someone thought this would be a plus-one invite—well, it wasn't! Brendon had spent most of his food money for this party, for a certain amount of people. Now, people were starting to dig through the cabinets because the house had ran out of food.

  Thus begins Brendon's mission: find Pete and go to the store. He lumbers into the kitchen, feeling the full effects of the alcoholic beverage he consumed moments before. The kitchen was no exception to the the rest of the house; People danced and drank, a few juniors were doing Body Shots off of some twink, and trash is pushed off of counters by couples who can't keep it in their pants.

  The music is merely a muffled background noise, hidden under the sound of raucous laughter coming from a group huddled around the dinning table. Brendon makes haste to the group, suspecting Pete was in there somewhere, only to pause and stare at a teenage boy who cries in Brendon's sink. The boy's dark haired friend shushes him gently, patting his leg.

  “I totally get you! Sinks are important.”

  “But _kitchen_ sinks!” The smaller of the two wails, throwing his head back. Brendon just stares at the two of them with a horror stricken face.

  “I'm not drunk enough for this,” Brendon whispers, shaking his head.

  “—and then I said, 'Cocaine? No man, you've been snorting sugar crystals!'” The group erupts into laughter again, distracting Brendon.

  “Pete?” Brendon yells, and the group parts as he pushes through. Pete sways where he stands, his eyes glassy and a bit pink, his cheeks cherry blushed. On his side stands Patrick, who was a bit tipsy and undecided to whether Pete's story was funny or irresponsible.

  “Hey-y-y-y!” Pete giggles, giving his friend a winning smile. Brendon sighs lightly.

  “Dude, I think there are too many people here. Everyone is complaining that we need more food and alcohol—hey, are you listening to me?” Brendon barks, snapping his fingers. Pete blinks one eye at a time, then gives a slow nod. Brendon huffs. “There's no liquor left on the shelf, man. These fuckers drank me out of house and home! Worse of all, no one in this fucking place has ever heard of closing the _goddamn door!_ Two guys left my back door open, and a bat— _a fucking bat—_ is now flapping around upstairs.”

  “You are clearly upset,” Pete says sagely, and Brendon drags a palm over his face. “Hey, hey—hey! Don't worry 'bout it—”

  “Oh, I'm more than worrying, you little shit.”

  “We can fix this,” Pete plows on, waving his hands around to emphasize his point. “We can go out right now and buy more food and booze!” Pete yells the last part, and those in the kitchen—including the idiots at the kitchen sink—roar in approval. Brendon groans, realizing that he had to do just this, if he wanted to keep the party going.

  “As for the bat problem,” Pete hiccups, “You're on your own.”

  “Thanks,” Brendon says sarcastically, “Alright, alright. You—you go gather some people, maybe some who _haven't_ drank any alcohol, and we can go on a supply run.” Brendon agrees, belching. Uhg, no more alcohol for him.

  When Pete goes off to gather his supply run group, Brendon totters back into the living area. He weaves through guests, smiling here and there at people who congratulate him, or say hello. He is making his way to the front door when a familiar voice calls his name. Brendon's heart stutters and he picks up speed, uninterested in talking to the person.

  As luck would have it, Brendon trips over nothing and lies sprawled on the floor from his haste to get away.

  “Brendon!” The voice sounds worried now, and suddenly hands wrap around Brendon's arms to hoist the boy up. “Shit, are you drunk?” Brendon lists to the right a bit as he tugs out of the person's hands. He meets the concerned brown eyes of Ryan Ross, and the host feels like hurling, an urge that has nothing to the alcohol he consumed. Ryan was giving him a soft look, one that Brendon didn't like, so he backs away, only for Ryan to take a step forward.

  “No, I'm not,” Brendon hisses, looking at his feet.

  “Brendon, don't look so angry. Please, I want to talk—” Ryan tries. Feeling a bit panicked, Brendon stands at his full height to glare fiercely.

  “Who the fuck invited you?” Brendon growls, seething. Ryan flinches, drawing his hands back to his chest.

  “Pete invited Jon,” Ryan tilts his head uninterestedly. Said person stands behind Ryan, peering awkwardly into his cup of beer. Brendon levels his drunken gaze with Ryan's.

  “Yeah, invited _Jon._ Now get off my property and leave me the fuck alone!” Brendon orders. Ryan flinches again before reaching a hand out to rest his palm on Brendon's cheek.

  “B, please...”

  “Get the fuck off of me! Remember what I said about leading me on, yesterday? Go away!” Brendon shouts, swiping away Ryan's hand. Fury replaces Ryan's pained expression, and he glowers at Brendon, stepping closer.

  “Why you _nasty—_ ” Ryan begins, pulling back his hand and raising it. Brendon quickly closes his eyes, preparing for the expected slap he is about to receive.

  An arm snakes around Brendon's waist, and his eyes pop open as he is hugged into someone's side.

  “Hey, man, who the fuck do you think you are, trying to hit my boyfriend?” Brendon's eyes are practically the size of the moon as he sweeps his gaze up to his protector—Dallon Weekes. Brendon is surely dreaming. “Did he hurt you, babe?” Dallon smiles charmingly, but his eyes tell Brendon to play along.

  “I—uh, no, I'm fine!” Brendon squawks. “Thanks, uh, Hun?” Dallon's eyes look pained at Brendon's horrible acting, but he keeps his smile as he looks over to Ryan; the stunned teen still has his hand raised, though his fingers droop.

  “B-boyfriend?” Ryan chokes, finally dropping his arm. Brendon nods quickly. Yes, this is Boyfriend. Please fuck off.

  “That's right,” Dallon laughs, his eyes crinkled and his lips curling into an even prettier grin than before. He looks so adoringly down at Brendon, that the host almost believes it. “Do you want to get some privacy now, Brendon?”

  “Yes, that would be great!” Brendon's mouth is incredibly dry, and he worries that Ryan will see right through him. Cliché as it is, Dallon successfully whisks Brendon down the hallway, hiding from Ryan's prying eyes. When the two are sure they aren't being followed, Dallon steps away from Brendon. His hand gently brushes Brendon's arm with concern.

  “I'm sorry if that was weird. You looked like you needed some help,” Dallon explains, leaning down a bit so he could look Brendon in the eye.

  “No, it's fine, really! Thank you, Dallon.” Brendon gushes, leaning against the wall. Dallon looks pleasantly surprised as he shuffles his feet.

  “You remember my name?” He is definitely satisfied.

  “Of course. We use to hang out all the time in middle school,” Brendon snorts, rolling his eyes, “You're kind of hard to forget, especially since we have class together.” Brendon decides to omit the part about his old crush. An old crush that was suddenly trying to creep back on him.

  “I'm glad you haven't forgotten me,” Dallon chuckles. “So, was there a reason you were trying to inch out the door, or was it just to get away from that prick?”

  “Oh, we ran out of food and stuff, I guess. I'm meant to drive my friends into town and buy more.”

  “Drive? Brendon, I don't mean to offend you, but you are certainly not in any condition to sit behind a steering wheel; you are _hammered_.”

  “I mean, I'm not as think as you drunk I am,” Brendon jokes weakly, but he knows that Dallon is right. His companion lets out an ugly snort of amusement.

  “You know, I've only had water since the party began. I can give you guys a lift, if you'd like.” Dallon offers, and Brendon beams.

  “Really? Oh man, I'd appreciate that, thank you!”

* * *

 

**Brendon—Ten minutes later**

  
  Brendon is definitely drunk off his ass. Okay, in his defense, he and Dallon couldn't find Pete, so to waste time—and himself—Brendon goes ahead and takes the solo cup someone offered him. Dallon didn't approve, and tried taking the cup away, but Brendon wasn't Brendon if he didn't throw a tantrum about it. Dallon gave him the cup back,and urged him to sit somewhere while he looked for Pete.

  After a few minutes of laughing at his own spit bubbles, whilst sitting on the porch, Brendon finally locates his friends. (Or rather, they locate _Brendon._ )

  “Didn't I ask you to sit on the couch?” Dallon complains, helping Brendon to his feet.

  “Yeah, Door knob, didn't he ask you to become the couch?” Pete sneers, leaning into his friend's face.

  “That's not what I said,” Dallon sighs, but his protest fell on deaf ears.

  “Pete!” Brendon wails, bumbling closer to his best friend and wrapping him in a hug. “Oh, man, I _wish_ I became the couch!” Brendon lets his friend go.

  “Oh man, you would be a very... _leathery_ couch. You know, because you wear leather? Because you are into kinky stuff?” Pete gasps.

  “No way! I'd be a sectional couch, made of that soft material that is hard to spell.”

  “Suede?” Dallon asks, and Brendon shrugs.

  “I guess so.”

  “Dude!” Pete groans happily, dragging out the word longer than necessary. Pete dips back not-so-gracefully for emphasis, “we gotta hurry this shopping thing up, man. Someone brought Five-Thousand-People. Do you know what that is?” Brendon shakes his head. “One word: _Designer. Fucking. Drugs_.”

  “That's three words, Pete,” Patrick corrects from behind his Date-Thing. The two boys only frown.

  “Drugs? That's not good at all,” Brendon whispers, sobering a bit.

  “Oh, man, they're great. It's a helluva feeling!” Pete laughs, convincing the host that he had already taken some of the so-called-drug. Dallon twirls his keys anxiously in his hand, pointing a long finger at a car parked down the road.

  “We can talk about this in the car. Come on, your guests are getting antsy.” Dallon demands, pushing Pete, Patrick, and Brendon in the direction of his vehicle. A shout comes from the front door, one that almost goes ignored until another yell contains Pete's name. Two teenagers rush down the steps to meet the small group.

 “We wanna go!” One of them cheer.

  “Who dis?” Brendon asks, but Dallon intervenes quickly by grabbing the new guests and dragging them towards the street.

  “Ask them when we get in the car. It's time to _go_.”

  Brendon crawls up front, Pete sits behind Dallon, Patrick wiggles next to his Date-Thing, and the new comers squish next to the window. After buckling himself in, Brendon squirms in his seat to look at the strangers behind him.

  “Who are you?” Brendon rephrases.

  “Joseph Tyler,” One slurs, pushing back his red hat as his dark haired friend snickers.

  “Tyler Joseph, you dork,” He corrects, “and I'm Joshua Dun. I'm not _nearly_ _a_ s drunk as Ty, though.” Or so he claims. Brendon narrows his eyes at Tyler while Dallon shifts gears and pulls off the curb.

  “Weren't you the guy crying in my sink?” Brendon accuses suspiciously.

  “Yep, that's me,” Tyler confirms, leaning against Josh.

  “Why?” Dallon counters, glancing at his rear view mirror to look for the boy's response.

  “Because a kitchen sink to you, is not a kitchen sink to me, okay friend?” Tyler replies, looking miffed. Josh nods solemnly while Brendon turns back around in his seat, shaking his head.

  “Uh, okay,” Dallon agrees, deciding that it is in his best interest to not offend Tyler and his symbolism. Brendon watches as his pretty fingers drag the steering wheel, his equally pretty eyes now focused only on the road. If Brendon is honest, everything about Dallon is pretty, to him. Dallon has always caught Brendon's eye, admittedly while he was with Ryan, too. Dallon just seems so much nicer than Ryan, has always been the gentle giant (Brendon giggles at that, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Dallon, but went unmentioned).

* * *

 

 

  “Pete, you are higher than the Empire State, and the rest of you are wasted. You boys are staying in the car while I shop,” Dallon orders.

  So of course that meant the group was going to follow him inside, anyways.

  Dallon pushes the cart grumpily, but despite his irritation at the boys, he was slowly starting to look at ease. How could he continue to be angry, when Brendon was so adorable as he darts between shelves?

  Tyler is sat in the buggy, hugging a box of generic fruity cereal to his chest. He argues with Josh that “Cereal goes in before milk”, while constantly swatting away his friend's curious fingers. Pete hangs onto the side of the cart, looking as if his high is quickly wearing off. Patrick takes the food Brendon offers him, and neatly stacks the goods around an oblivious Tyler.

  “Tyler, get out so we have more room,” Patrick reasons, waving around a bag of Doritos. Tyler makes a hissing noise as he clutches his cereal box to his chest, squishing a bag of something as he wiggles around. Patrick scowls and puts a hand on his hips, giving Tyler the stink eye. Their friends pause what they are doing to stare at the two.

  “Get. Out.”

  “You get out,” Tyler sasses, and Patrick makes a grumpy noise as he throws the Doritos into Tyler's face. Tyler just opens the bag and begins to eat, much to Dallon's disdain.

  Patrick angrily stalks off to look at a display rack of animal trading cards, and Pete—whose high has _definitely_ wore off—trudges after the small blond to bring him back to the self check-out, so Dallon and Brendon could pay for their supplies. They had to wrestle the cereal from Tyler, who put up a very violent fight when they tried paying for it(He kept letting out offended squawks until Josh dug the box out of a plastic bag to give it back). Finally, Dallon drags them all out of the store and back to his car, where he packs the food into the trunk.

  “Now to buy the alcohol,” Dallon sighs, putting away the last bag.

  “Wait, none of us are twenty-one. How are we supposed to buy it?” Patrick points out, and Josh sighs dreamily.

  “I love the number twenty-one,” He whispers.

  Tyler perks at that, leaning into his friend's face to shout, “What's nine plus ten?”

  “Nineteen,” Patrick replies obliviously, clearly never watching the popular video. Tyler pouts.

  “I have a fake ID,” Dallon admits, ignoring the boys as he slams the trunk. Satisfied, he dusts off his hands and looks back at his friends.

 “Why?” Patrick asks, putting his hand out to lean against the car; he miscalculates by a long shot, and fumbles to the pavement. Everyone ignores Patrick's painful mistake as Dallon fists his wallet out of his pocket, and after a moment of searching, he pulls out a card to show his friends.

  “A friend of mine bet me thirty bucks I couldn't get one and then use it without being caught. Of course it worked, and I ended up buying two cases of beer that neither of us ever drank,” Dallon explains, putting the card back into his wallet.

  “That's so cool,” Pete breathes, clearly in a happier mood than when they were in the store. Dallon just laughs.

  “Thank you. Now, the Liquor store is just across the street. I'm trusting you boys to get into the car and _stay put._ When I get back, we can return to the party.” Dallon tells, before glancing at Patrick. “Patrick, get off the ground before you catch a cold.” With that, Dallon rushes across the parking lot and looks both ways before crossing the street.

  “I wanna get back in the buggy,” Tyler complains, staring longingly at the forgotten item. Brendon shakes his head.

  “Too damn bad, because it's my turn!” He reasons, clambering inside. The cart wobbles unsteadily beneath him as he wriggles around happily. Pete grins as he grabs the handle to push his friend. Patrick is now sat against the front tire on the driver's side, disapproving of the scene before him. Tyler and Josh only eat cereal, indifferent.

  “This is getting out of hand!” Patrick calls as Pete began to push Brendon all over the mostly-empty parking lot.

  “There's no such thing as 'getting out of hand'!” Brendon hollers, tossing his head back. He reaches his hands towards the overcast sky, and laughs as Pete narrowly misses a small Honda parked a few rows away from Dallon. Pete hops onto the back of the cart as they rumble over the cracked pavement.

  “Watch out, there's a hole there,” Josh warns, pointing vaguely at a spot the two roamed by. Tyler hisses.

  “Man, the government needs to fill these holes with more cement! I don't sit around and pay taxes to drive over uneven roads!” Tyler gripes around a mouthful of cereal, accidentally spitting a few crumbs back into the box. Patrick gives his friend a perplexed stare.

  “This is asphalt, not cement...and you don't pay taxes, Tyler.”

  “Well, My mom does, and she doesn't deserve this debauchery!”

  “Here, here!” Josh agrees; Patrick is even more confused.

  “Tyler, I don't believe you know what that word actually means...”

  Brendon and Pete ride around for another five minutes, both a giggling mess until they shudder to a stop in front of a stern looking Dallon. He taps his foot impatiently, three brown paper bags crossed in his arms, and his eyes turning steely as he glares at Brendon.

  “What did I say about staying in the car?” Dallon seethes, and poor, drunk Brendon doesn't realize that Dallon's anger is purely because he is worried. So, the wasted teen begins to cry, apologizing for not listening. The menacing expression falls from Dallon's face, and he only lets out a sigh.

  “Brendon, please don't cry, I'm sorry. You guys could have gotten hurt, or hit by a careless driver,” Dallon shakes his head, “You guys are so drunk. Come on, get in the car, lets go.” Dallon herds the group back into their respective seats in his car before he stows away the booze. He returns the buggy to the Cart Return and then hops behind the wheel.

  He has to stop twice because someone didn't have their doors closed all the way.

* * *

 

**Brendon—1:30 AM**

 

  The party was still going, much to Brendon's surprise. Though people are still swaying to the music, a lot of guests were sitting on the floor in a drug induced daze. As it turns out, the designer drug “Five-Thousand-People” is apparently just cocaine mixed with food colouring. Many teenagers and a few college students had mounds of this shit on a platter, snorting it and laughing. Brendon wasn't very comfortable with this, and instead stuck to the cognac that Dallon had helped buy.

  As of now, some twink with white and black hair was trying to make a bet with Brendon, who is wasted off of his ass.

  “What—no,” Brendon slurs, glaring at the kid with a bad hair style. Brendon is damn near sure his name is Jack, and he is also sure that this is the kid who poured out all of Brendon's champagne. Jack calmly smooths down the green skirt he was wearing over his jeans, looking a bit smug.

  “You'll agree to it, I know you will,” Jack says in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Dude, dude, dude!” Another boy—Alex, Jack's companion—insists, “It will totally be great! Come on!”

  “You will be so cool!” Zack cheers, and his buddy Rian nods in agreement. The four boys continue to plead with Brendon until Dallon walks over to see what all the commotion is about.

  “I don't want to though.” Brendon states, crossing his arms. Dallon puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder, looking unsure.

  “What are you doing?”

  “He's too big of a puss to do Jack's dare!” Alex _hurrumphs,_ sticking his tongue out at the host. Brendon bristles at that.

  “I'm no puss!” Brendon barks. Dallon shakes his head, not liking the sound of that.

  “What are you doing?” He asks again, this time looking over at the group of boys huddled together. Rian rolls his eyes, before explaining the idiotic dare Jack had set up.

  “No. No way, Brendon,” Dallon says sternly, but Brendon wasn't listening.

  “What do I get if I win the bet?” Brendon asks. Jack fist pumps the air as Alex claps a hand on the host's shoulder.

  “You, my friend, will be given your own bottle of Champagne, and twenty bucks!”

  “guys, it's _twenty degrees_ outside!” Dallon exaggerates, glaring at Brendon.

  “That's a dollar for every Fahrenheit!” Rian tells, grinning.

  “You guys are idiots,” Dallon moans, before grabbing Brendon and shaking him slightly, “Please don't.”

  “If I lose?” Brendon inquires, ignoring Dallon; his taller friend throws his arms into the air out of annoyance.

  “You have to put on a wedding dress and marry one of your guests. Tonight.”

  “Deal,” Brendon agrees, sticking his hand out. As the boys shake the host's hand, Dallon covers his eyes.

  “I'm surrounded by fucking morons,” Dallon murmurs, following Brendon and the boys outside. A few guests who had heard the small altercation follow as they creep across the cul-de-sac—to another house that bares resemblance to Brendon's. The air had become so cold that Brendon's lips had begun to feel dry, and as the group of people creep onto his neighbor's property, he is starting to regret his decision . Now, it isn't 20°F, as Dallon had assumed, but it _is_ cold enough to get sick, or worse. Dallon has every right to be worried, but no one seemed to care.

  “Okay, for those of you who do not know,” Alex stage whispers dramatically, “our gorgeous host—man, what a sport he is—is gonna hop into his neighbor's pool!” Out of the fifteen-or-so guests that had followed, only half of them seemed to think this is a good idea. Most of them watch anxiously as Brendon skirts near the edge of the pool, stepping on the back of his heels to pop his shoes off.

  Jack continues for Alex “this is a bet guys, meaning that Brendon doesn't _have_ to go through with this. However, if he jumps into the pool in only his underwear, for a _whole_ minute, he wins! No one else is to get in, and no one makes a sound that could alert his neighbors. Understood?”

  “Please don't do this! Please, Brendon,” Dallon tries again, but Brendon was shucking off his suit jacket and pulling at his tie.

  “If Brendon gets out of the water before the timer goes off, he loses. If he wears anything more than his underwear, he loses. If he loses, he won't get the money or champagne promised to him, and he will instead have to put on his mother's wedding gown and get married tonight!” The guests perked at that, and watch excitedly as Brendon strips off the rest of his clothes; Dallon stops trying to fight Brendon, and instead helps him undress.

  Brendon dips a testing toe into the water, before letting out a hiss. The murky green water was freezing, and he personally isn't interested in staining his grey boxers with unfiltered pool water. However, he has a bet to win. Then, knowing he wouldn't go with it if he slowly slid into the water, Brendon steps back a few steps, runs, and then dives in. Quiet cheers of encouragement erupt around the pool as he resurfaces, flipping his wet hair back and gasping for air. A few people send worried glances towards the dark house beside them.

  It isn't even fifteen seconds in by the time Brendon is shivering. His teeth knocked together, his nipples—and other rather sensitive parts—feel like they are going to fall off, and his lips had turned a pale purple.

  “Forty seconds left!” Jack hisses. Dallon stomps to the edge of the pool, thrusting his hand at Brendon.

  “Get out of the pool, now!” Dallon snarls, falling to one knee and reaching over when Brendon floats back away from him. Brendon shakes his head, though it was hard to tell since every part of him is shaking already.

  “No! I'll have to marry a stranger—and don't tell me I won't have to. I'm a man of my word!”

  “You're an idiot, is what you are!” Dallon barks, waving his hand to capture Brendon's attention. “If it makes you feel any better, _I_ will marry you! I'm not a stranger! Now get out of this goddamn pool before you catch pneumonia or something!” Dallon begs.

  Brendon considers Dallon's offer, sobering enough to realize his friend is right. Brendon could die or become seriously ill if he stays in the water much longer, and no amount of pride will be worth getting sick over. He swims to the edge of the pool, and clambers out with Dallon's help. There are a mixture of triumphant cheers and groans as Jack announces the Brendon had failed.

  “I'll let you warm up a bit before the wedding,” Jack says cheekily, winking before leading the way back to the party.

  “I can't believe I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt,” Brendon mutters indignantly, wrapping his arms haughtily around himself. He stumbles across the street and bumbles into his house in just his underwear, because he refuses to ruin his suit and hat with disgusting pool water; Dallon carries the outfit with a small smile.

  “Just think, you will look nice in a wedding dress,” Dallon tries, hoping to lift Brendon's spirit.

  Brendon just grumbles his response as he takes a bottle of liquor from some girl and attempts to chug it. Brendon shakes his head violently at the bitter taste, the unfortunate guests around him getting damp with water droplets; one girl gets a dead June bug shaken at her.

  Brendon has almost finished the bottle by the time Pete had brought him a towel. Brendon's crush and his best friend both work on trying to dry the host as Jack climbs onto the coffee table, waving to Andy Hurley—unofficial DJ—to turn off the music.

  “Guys, you are all in for a very big treat!” Jack yells, and Alex crawls up next to him with an excited laugh(and then topples back onto the floor when his friend pushes him). Brendon, warmed by the alcohol, walks to the front of the crowd to see what the boy had to say.

  “Jack, you slut,” Alex barks, pushing said person off the table and taking his place. “Anyways, as Jack was saying! Tonight, our beautiful host is getting married to his dear Husband-To-Be!” Alex shouts, pointing at Brendon, who is still burritoed in his towel. Brendon is over come with emotion, and tears fill his eyes as he fist pumps the air. Everyone shouts in celebration, and Andy plays some music he found appropriate for the event. In the crowd of excited party guests, Brendon catches Ryan's eye, and feels very smug at the hurt expression he is receiving. Jack pulls Alex off of the table and the two begin to fight each other, needing to be pulled apart by Rian and Zack before someone got a black eye.

  “I need more alcohol,” Dallon murmurs close to Brendon's ear, and the shorter of the two shivers as he looks up, unsure.

  “Okay,” Brendon says slowly, brow furrowed. Dallon gives Brendon a warm look, before setting a hand on the small of Brendon's dripping back and kissing his temple.

  “It's fine. I'll be down here waiting for you to get ready. I'll send Pete when we want you to come down.” Dallon assures, smiling that pretty smile of his before pushing through the crowd. Brendon feels like his cheeks are on fire.

  As he makes his way upstairs—losing his towel at some point—Brendon wonders if Dallon likes him, too. Maybe it was just the alcohol making things up, but Brendon is _sure_ that Dallon wouldn't have offered to “Marry” him, if he wasn't at least a little bit interested...right? Dallon has always been so kind to Brendon, but maybe that was because they used to be really close friends, back in middle school.

  Although, in eighth grade, Dallon _did_ tell Brendon he liked boys, and that he thought Brendon was really pretty. Brendon snorts at the memory as he walks towards his parents' room. They were both just kids back then, and neither of them ever admitted their feelings to each other...so liking boys and being called “Pretty” doesn't exactly count as interest, does it?

  Brendon finds the key to the padlock on his parents' door under one of the plastic ferns. Briefly wondering if that was even a good hiding spot for a key, Brendon jimmies the lock and pushes the door open. He blindly searches his hand along the wall for the light switch, and when he flicks the light on, he scuttles over to the closet door. He pays no mind to the rest of the room, keeping all of his drunken focus on not misplacing his parents' things.

  Brendon carefully picks through his mother's half of the closet, finding the beautiful wedding gown folded into a silk bag, and stowed away in a decorative box for safe keeping. Brendon holds his breath as he plucks the dress out of it's bag, and runs his hand over the cream coloured fabric. Brendon has the foresight to leave everything else where it is as he searches for shoes and shimmies into the dress.

  Brendon can't _believe_ he fit into the dress as well as he does. The Dress isn't a poofy, traditional gown, but is rather long and silky. The end of the gown flows around Brendon's feet, with snowflake embroidery just a shade darker than the actual dress, climbing up the left side and around Brendon's lithe shoulders. (Brendon's mother had married in winter, according to the stories.)

  Unfortunately, the bust was a bit slack, due to Brendon's lack of breasts, but he didn't mind too much. He fixed the problem by adjusting the sleeves so they hung higher on his shoulders; he also figures that if he could get it zipped all the way, the collar will fit better.

  Looking in the mirror hanging from the closet door, Brendon nearly got emotional again (he should never consume so much alcohol. Ever). Brendon's jawline seemed much softer, his skin darker against the off white fabric, and he looks so slender. Brendon didn't look like a girl, not that he minded, but he looked pretty.

  Brendon once more thinks about the time Dallon called him pretty, and is so lost in thought he almost didn't hear the knock on the bedroom door before it is pushed open. Pete—who smells oddly like gasoline—stares Brendon over, his eyes misted.

  “My best friend is gorgeous!” He bawls.

  “Oh, god, Pete! Don't make me cry!” Brendon pleads, fanning his face to keep imaginary tears from falling.

  “Wow, I can't believe you are wearing a dress,” Pete sighs, walking into the room. He uses his foot to close the door, before making his way to Brendon. The host twists on his heel so Pete could continue zipping what he couldn't reach. When finished, Brendon falls onto the trunk at the end of his parents' bed to slip on his mother's high heels. He is amused to know his foot fit just fine, and he lifts the dress to admire the velvety shoes.

  “Yeah, I know,”He begins, holding his foot towards Pete with a shit-eating grin, “but I make these high heels work.” Pete lets out an ugly snort of laugher, before pushing his friend's foot back to the floor; he hands Brendon the other shoe.

  “Yo',” Pete begins thoughtfully, crossing his arms and cocking his hip, “you are going to have a tough time walking in those, you know. Especially since you are drunk all to hell and back.”

  “I also smoked a thing,” Brendon says regretfully, standing.

  “Weed, you nerd. It's called weed, Marijuana, Mary-Jane, grass, Mary-do-you-wanna—”

  “Shut up and walk me down the aisle,” Brendon demands, and with a bit of a stuggle, the two friends stumble downstairs.

  The living room had been turned into a makeshift aisle, with the furniture moved against the wall. Guests stand on either side of a few sheets that have been folded a few times to make a path to walk down, and at the end of this so called aisle is the coffee table acting as an alter. Joe Trohman stands behind it with a goofy smile, a dictionary clasped in his folded hands.

  Tyler and Josh are a giggling mess as they meet Pete and Brendon at the end of the stair case, the two of them gushing over Brendon's dress. When the guests hear Brendon's chatter, there are quiet noises of anticipation. There is an over flow of people standing in the hall and peeking through doors to get a glimpse of the host.

  “Your man is waiting for you,” Josh whispers before grabbing Tyler's arm. The two reach into Tyler's cereal box and walk ahead of Brendon. As soon as Tyler and Josh—the flower girls, apparently—walk into the living area, the DJ softly plays some upbeat song that didn't match the situation; The guests drunkenly sing “Here comes the bride” over the music.

  Brendon is lead by Pete through the archway, and there are appreciative cheers from around them. Dallon walks across the room and to the “alter” to wait on Brendon, looking amused and handsome as the host stumbles over cereal. Pete makes it a point to put Brendon's hand into Dallon's, then backs away to stand in the crowd.

  “Okay, okay,” Joe starts, drawing attention. When the music doesn't stop, he sends Andy a glare. “So like, this party is chill, and this wedding is chill.” Brendon fights to not fall as Joe talks about meaningless stuff, including how stoned he is. Brendon keeps sending nervous glances at Dallon, who is totally catching every look directed to him. Dallon grins, looking away from Joe for a moment, before squeezing Brendon's hand.

  “That being said, I'm gonna read a passage from the bible thing—”

  “That's a dictionary!” Someone shouts, and Joe scowls.

  “As I was _saying,_ ” Joe snaps, ruffled, “I'm gonna read a passage.” He flits to a page he had marked with a small, half-smoked joint that he sticks between his lips for safe keeping. He pulls the book closer to his face as he contemplatively chews the end of the joint, eyes looking for something.

  “Marriage: _Noun._ A wedding ceremony, the state of being married.” With that, Joe snaps the book closed. He motions towards Dallon. “Do you agree?”

  “Yes, I do agree,” Dallon gasps, trying to stifle his laughter. Joe, satisfied, looks to Brendon.

  “Righteous,” He says, pleased, “Do you agree?”

  “I do!” Brendon declares.

  “I now pronounce you Leg and Forehead. You may kiss the host!” Joe prompts, now signaling at Andy. Brendon isn't sure what he is supposed to do now. This is all just pretend, right? Brendon completed a dare for everyone's amusement—it was only a lost bet. Was he supposed to kiss a guy he hasn't had a full conversation with since eighth grade, _maybe_ freshman year?

  Thankfully, Dallon makes the decision for him. With those pretty hands that Brendon has admired all night, Dallon cups Brendon's cheek and entwines long fingers into damp hair. Brendon is in a daze—and not just from drugs—as his friend pulls him him close, leans down, and presses their lips together. Brendon hears Andy start the song “On Top of The World” by Imagine Dragons, and though it is incredibly cheesy, Brendon feels his heart swell happily all the same.

  This is Brendon's _first_ kiss, since Ryan never wanted anything to do with him. This means Brendon had no idea where to put his hands, how to move his mouth, or if he is any good at all. He doesn't see fire works, or hear angels singing—only a bunch of rowdy teenagers singing with the song—but he does feel warm everywhere, and his lips tingle. His heart twists much the same way Dallon slowly twists their mouths, and for the first time in a long time, Brendon feels truly happy.

  Dallon nips Brendon's lower lip before he pulls away, causing Brendon to feel oddly dizzy, in a good way.

  “Because of you, I've lost my mind in a wedding gown,” Brendon accuses breathlessly. Dallon beams, even though he isn't quite sure what that statement is supposed to mean.

  “Now throw the book, so someone else can catch the Marriage,” Joe suggests, bringing the two back to the real world. The object is shoved into Brendon's hands, so he faces away from the crowd.

  “Cover everything important!” Brendon shouts, and throws the book. There is a scream of pain, a squeal, and a few groans of disappointment.

  “Way to go, Frankie!” Gerard yells, and Brendon turns to see a small teen staring at the book with horror. “Celebratory cigarette?” He snickers, offering the stunned boy one. Frank takes the offered cigarette, and that starts a chain reaction. Several guests begin to hand him a cigarette, asking him if he is going to put on the dress, too.

  “Fuck that,” Frank tells them, but eagerly takes each cigarette while Gerard laughs. What, these fuckers are expensive!

  Unfortunately, most of the cigarettes go to waste when some moron says “Do the thing they do in the cartoons!” And tries lighting several nicotine sticks at once for Frank to put in his mouth. Of course, Frank is smart enough not to do that, but this doesn't keep an entire pack of camels from going up in flames.

  The smoke alarm goes off.

  Brendon stares dumb founded as Frank and Gerard take the pack of cigarettes outside to stomp out the flames, while others scramble over each other to turn off the fire alarms. Someone finds a broom and jams it at the ceiling—where the smoke alarm rings—until they successfully knock it off of the wall.

  “My parents are going to be pissed,” Brendon grumbles, feeling Dallon put a comforting arm around his waist. Joe, impatient that his ceremony was ruined, pokes the “newly-weds” until they turn back to him.

  “Now before you two go off on your well-deserved honeymoon, please sign the certificates.” Joe says, waving two pieces of blue construction paper between the “Newly Weds”. The papers were identical, both baring “Certificate of Marriage” in permanent marker. At the bottom of each page, the date had been scribbled with a heart drawn around it; on either side of the date, there are matching dotted lines.

  “Is this how marriage works?” Brendon asks, taking the pen offered to him. Joe shrugs.

  “Hell if I know, I just thought it looked nice. I also made two, so you both could have one.”

  “I write sins, not tragedies,” Brendon decides, trying to sign his name as neatly as possible.

  His signatures are a fucking mess.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Dallon asks, taking the marker from Brendon so he could sign as well. Brendon shrugs as he plays with the sleeves of his dress.

  “Sins usually feel pretty good, tragedies do not. Therefore this is a sin?” Brendon was pretty much talking out of his ass, but he gets the message across well enough; he is happy and doesn't regret his decision.

  “I like it,” Dallon says, pink dusted over his cheeks as he gives Brendon a satisfied smile. He folds his paper into his jean's pocket, and Brendon holds his close to his chest until he could figure out where to put it.

  “Now!” Joe calls attention once more, “The bride and groom have signed all the appropriate documents, and now the ceremony is over! _They_ can begin their honeymoon—” He is interrupted wolf-whistles “—and _we_ can continue the party!” The cheers that exploded after this is said are deafening.

  Brendon slips off his borrowed heels as Dallon takes his hand and rushes down the aisle. Cereal is thrown at the two the way that rice would be at a normal wedding, and the two are a giggling mess as they are pelted with the stuff. Brendon catches Ryan's eye at the end of the aisle, but his smile doesn't falter. Brendon is absolutely beaming.

  Brendon takes Dallon in the direction of his parents room so he could put the dress up. When inside, Dallon gently unzips the fabric, careful not to catch any of the snowflakes or pull a thread.

  “You know,” Dallon says thoughtfully as Brendon undresses, “It's funny that there are snowflakes on the dress, considering the cold is what got us up at the 'alter' tonight.”

  “It was meant to be,” Brendon jokes, gently folding the dress and placing it in the protective slip.

  “Maybe it was,” Dallon says softly, and Brendon looks bashfully over his shoulder. Dallon gives him an encouraging smile that the host easily returns, before putting the dress into the box, the shoes on the rack, and closing the closet door. One final sweep of the place suggests that everything is as it is supposed to be, and the two walk out of the room and lock the door.

  Brendon holds his “certificate” tightly to his chest as he shuffles awkwardly in front of Dallon, clad only in his boxers. Dallon is looking down at him with equally flustered eyes, Brendon's suit in his hands.

  “I assume you want this back,” Dallon says, holding out the pile of fabric and the party hat. Brendon takes it, smiling a bit.

  “You know, I had a cane when I first started tonight. I lost it somewhere along doing body shots,” He snorts, placing the paper on top of the folded clothes. Dallon chuckles, but the two are silent for a moment.

  “So,” Dallon murmurs, heat creeping up his neck, “I don't expect anything from you, you know, so you can reject the idea...but do you wanna, ah...” For the first time that night, Dallon wasn't as cool as he first appeared to be.

  “Wanna what?” Brendon insists, thinking he already knows what Dallon is going to say.

  “We could start that... _honeymoon,_ ” Dallon emphasizes in a low voice that makes Brendon's head whirl; it was probably just the booze.

  “Well, I _want_ to, but I, uh, don't know how—?” Brendon's words are an embarrassed, disjointed mess, and didn't help that he was feeling slight arousal at the mere thought of sex. _I'm such a virgin,_ Brendon thinks bitterly, glaring at the floor.

  “But you _do_ want to, though?” Dallon asks, bending a bit so he could look Brendon in the eye. Brendon nods shyly, his lips twitching when Dallon gives him a big smile.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then we can take it slow, and I'll show you how,” Dallon proposes, holding out his hand. Brendon nods again, takes his companion's hand, and pulls Dallon to his bedroom.

* * *

 

**Frank—2:26 AM**

   “Man, I need to go home!” Frank suddenly yells, causing a few party goers to leap in surprise. He is sat in the kitchen, holding the dictionary and glaring at his phone that had been turned off all night. He has a plethora of missed calls and death threats from his mom, and Frank bangs his head on the table in defeat.

  “When do you need to be back?” Gerard asks, tilting his head.

  “ _Two hours ago!_ Fucking hell,” Frank moans.

  “Frank, why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have minded to take you home earlier,” Gerard says, rubbing Frank's back. He gets a muffled response, and leans over Frank's shoulder for a clear answer. “Run that by me again?”

  “I said,” Frank sighs, sitting up. Gerard moves as Frank does, but doesn't remove his hand from Frank's back. “I didn't know what time it was. Hell, the night has gone by so fast that I thought it was still around eleven or so.”

  “Here, let's get you home then. I don't need your mom to hate me for not bringing you back on time.”

  “Alright,” Frank sulks, sliding out of his seat. Gerard takes his hand and leads him away from the kitchen, both of them saying their farewells to the few people who bother to take notice in them. When the two get to Gerard's car, Frank texts his mom an apology and a promise that he will be home in ten-to-fifteen minutes.

  “Hop in, Frankie,” Gerard says softly, opening the door. Frank scrambles inside, and though he could have done it himself, Gerard reaches over and buckles Frank up. Then, checking to make sure Frank's limbs aren't in the way, he shuts the door and goes to the driver's side.

  “Wait,” Frank starts, watching as Gerard's hand stills over the ignition. “Have you had any alcohol?” As far as Frank knew, neither of them had touched any of the booze or drugs, but that doesn't mean Gerard couldn't have drank some without him noticing.

  “No,” Gerard laughs, twisting the key, “I don't drink alcohol anymore.”

  “Is it okay if I ask why?” Frank prompts, weighing his phone on his knee.

  “Sure,” Gerard says, pulling out of the cul-de-sac. “I admit to having...an alcohol problem, awhile back. It was starting to worry my family and friends, and I wasn't at my best when drinking. With a bit of support, I quit.”

  “Oh,” Frank says, not expecting that. He smiles, “Then I'm glad you've cleaned up.”

  “Thank you,” Gerard chuckles, coasting towards Frank's house. He pulls into the drive and turns off the car as Frank unbuckles. Beating him to it, Gerard stumbles out of the vehicle and makes his way in front of the car to open Frank's door.

  There, on the front porch, stands Frank's Mother. She watches the whole scene unfold before her, brow furrowed as she wraps her bathrobe tighter around her waist. Gerard yanks on the door, smiling at Frank.

  “Let me walk you to the door,” Gerard suggests, and Frank snorts.

  “You don't have to do that,” Frank admonishes, but takes the hand Gerard offers him.

  “I know, but I want to.” Gerard shrugs, helping Frank from the car. Though he lets go of his hand, Gerard places his hand firmly on Franks back, guiding him to where Mother waits in the shadows.

  “You must be Gerard,” She guesses, and Frank jumps at her unexpected—and rather stern—appearance.

  “Yes, mam,” He says, stepping forward and offering a hand. She takes it in hers, looking a bit suspicious. “I'd like to apologize for keeping him out so late. Tonight has been full of activity, and amongst the flurry of fun, we had lost time. I hope you will give me a second chance to take Frank out again.”

  “Well,” She says, blinking in surprise. She smooths her hand over her robe, nodding a bit. “I guess it couldn't be helped. However, if it happens again, you will be in a lot of trouble!” She directs the last part to Frank, who bows his head in embarrassment.

  “Sorry, momma,” He grumbles, fidgeting. She pats his shoulder, and then looks to Gerard.

  “I'll leave you two to say your 'goodbye's, I suppose. It has been nice meeting you, Gerard.”

  “Likewise,” He responds, grinning triumphantly as she darts into the house. He can see her peaking through the window next to the door, but doesn't pay her any mind as he looks back at Frank.

  “So,” Frank says, smirking.

  “So,” Gerard laughs, leaning back on his heel, “I think she likes me.”

  “You just confused her with your big words.” The woman lets out an offended squawk from inside the house, and Frank turns crimson as Gerard laughs. “Mom! Go away!”

  “No! I have to see if my baby gets his first kiss!” Comes her muffled response, and Frank lets out a noise similar to the one she had made.

  “Gerard, I'm sorry—”

  “Just let me kiss you, nerd,” Gerard interrupts him. Though it sounded like a demand, when Gerard bends down, his lips a breath away from Frank's, he pauses to give Frank room to back away if he wants to.

  “Aren't we going a bit fast?” Frank whispers, but he doesn't move away this time, and neither does Gerard.

  “I will let you decide that, Frank.”

  “Well,” The boy hesitates, biting his lip. “It's not too fast if it's only a goodbye kiss. Right?”

  “Right.” Gerard agrees, closing the gap. This kiss lasted maybe three seconds before Gerard is pulling away, and Frank stumbles forward, surprised by the sudden absence. Gerard catches him before he could hit the ground, giggling. “My skills that good?”

  “I will punch you in the fucking throat,” Frank warns, his face hot as he rights himself. Gerard continues to laugh as he pulls Frank into a hug.

  “You are so adorable.” With that, Gerard lets his friend/maybe-not-friend go before walking to his car. Before getting in, he calls out “Text me when you wake up, tomorrow!” and drives away. Frank stumbles into the house, eyes wide as he makes his way to the couch. He flips over the back of it, face planting into the cushions as he lets out a muffled yell of excitement.

  “I can't believe I witnessed your first kiss!” Frank's mother yells, falling onto the floor next to her son.

  “I can't believe you witnessed my first kiss,” Frank groans, feeling embarrassed.

  “I know!” Mother cheers back, uncaring to his annoyed tone. She pats his shoulder. “Well, head to your room, Frank. The quicker you fall asleep, the quicker you can talk to Gerard!”

  “Please stop,” Frank whines, but gets up anyways and trudges to his room. When the door is closed behind him, and he is sure no one is watching, he does a victory dance.

* * *

 

**Brendon—10:15 AM, the present day (S** **un** **day, September** **4** **th** **)**

  
  “I really hate cereal,” Brendon complains, shoveling a handful into a garbage bag that Pete is holding out to him. Brendon is really hungover, but he was successful in reviving his memories of the night previous—mostly thanks to the videos his friends and a few party guests had showed him. He is embarrassed, sure, but he is in a decent mood now that he can remember how much fun he had.

  Tyler, who had been awoken around five minutes ago, lets out a vexed snarl towards Brendon.

  “I'm sorry, alright? I didn't know what I was doing,” Tyler takes a deep breath as he tosses some cereal and Brendon's broken lamp into the bag Josh was trying to hog, “Share that, will you? Jeez. Anyways, If I'd have known I would waste precious cereal at a dumb wedding, I wouldn't have been apart of it,” Tyler sasses. Brendon violently flings a crushed solo cup, hitting the little twat square in the head. Tyler lets out a yell before launching himself at Brendon. The two quarrel on the floor, their friends just watching them with pained expressions, until Dallon rounds the corner with dripping hair from his shower. He dives between the two.

  “Hey, what the hell is going on here!” He yells, dragging Brendon off of Tyler—who was in a choke hold, at that moment.

  “Your dear _husband_ threw a fricking solo cup at me! Control him!” Tyler tattles, and Brendon gasps in offense.

  “You fucking tattle-tale! Snitch! Snitch! Snitches get stitches!” Brendon wails, preparing to dive at Tyler again. Dallon drags Brendon off of him, plucks a broom from the floor, and thrusts it in his hands.

  “I can tell everyone is a bit hung over right now—”

  “ _A bit?_ Mate, I feel like someone dropped an anvil on my head!” Tyler snarls, waving his hand around.

  “I will do it for you, if you'd like,” Brendon gripes, but closes his mouth when Dallon glares at him.

  “Stop it you two, no more fighting. You guys were friends last night, and regardless of how big your head ache is, you can continue to be friends.” Dallon reasons. The two begrudgingly shake hands upon Dallon's request, and then continue to clean up the mess.

  “He still shouldn't have thrown the cup at me,” Tyler mutters, and Brendon lets out a miffed noise.

  “Excuse you!”

  “Well, don't bully him and he wouldn't have reason to throw shit.” Dallon barks back, dropping to his knees to help clean up. Resigned, Tyler nods and apologizes, and though reluctant, Brendon does the same.

  “So,” Patrick says after five minutes of silence, “You and Brendon got 'Married' last night. Thoughts?” Brendon, standing behind Dallon, glares at his friend and mouths curses. Dallon looks up.

  “How do you mean?” Dallon asks, “There is nothing to think about. I like Brendon, I helped him with his lost bet, and everyone had a fun night. Am I wrong?” Brendon stops glaring at Patrick, feeling flattered while everyone else stares at Dallon with surprise.

  “Wait, you like-like him?” Pete asks eagerly, and Dallon rolls his eyes.

  “how old are you, five?” He looks over to Brendon, “ _Yes_ , I 'like-like' him. I told him so in eighth grade.”

  “Brendon!” Pete yells, tackling his friend.

  “Pete, what the fuck?” Brendon screams, wriggling on the floor.

  “Why didn't you tell me, you big-foreheaded shit!” Pete barks, sitting on his friend and shaking him by the shoulders. “I would have set you up with him, instead of that prick Ryan!”

  “Get off, you fucker. And don't say his name,” Brendon snarls, pushing off his friend. Sitting up, he grumpily dusts off his arms. “I didn't tell you because I didn't know.” Dallon scoffs.

  “I told you I was gay, and that I thought you were 'really pretty', and you think I didn't like you? Do you realize how much I use to flirt with you?” Dallon snorts, shaking his head. He returns to his task of cleaning, but he was the only one.

  “So...you really did like me?” Brendon asks in a small voice, but Dallon doesn't look up.

  “I still do, Bren. You're kind of hard to not like.” Dallon says, and Pete punches Brendon in the arm.

  “I told you,” Pete hisses, but Brendon isn't sure as to what he was referring to.

  “You two haven't had a full conversation in years,” Tyler starts, “and then you suddenly are accepting the fact that he has a crush on you. You guys _slept together_ last night. Aren't you worried he's a stalker?” Now it's Dallon's turn to become offended, and Brendon snorts.

  “No, not really. It's kind of a fucking miracle.”

  “Well, _I_ am worried. Leggieleggie over here could be some sort of yandere creep—”

  “Am not!” Dallon says crossly, and Tyler receives a 'go-to-Hell' from all of his friends.

  “Anywho,” Brendon chuckles, “I am extremely flattered.” Dallon visibly deflates at that.

  “Ah, but not _interested._ Got it.” Dallon huffs, trying to not look as dejected as he feels. Brendon stands and leans against his broom with a devilish smirk.

  “I never said that,” He corrects, and the hopeful look Dallon gives him nearly stops his heart.

  “Seriously? What—”

  “I mean,” Brendon interrupts, “I won't be your husband, not right now. But maybe after some dates, and we see how long we can last as boyfriends...” Brendon implies, smiling as Dallon pieces together what he is saying. Tyler slams a palm to his forehead.

  “Do you two realize how incredibly sudden this all is?” Tyler hisses, but Josh oh-so-casually presses his toe to the back of Tyler's left knee; Tyler's leg buckles and because he wasn't expecting it, he falls on top of Josh's garbage bag. He lets out an irked noise.

  Dallon grins as he looks over Brendon. “Well, you've been an excellent host, but I think it's my turn. Can I take you somewhere?”

  “Sure,” Brendon snorts, winking.

  “Well now, true love! You don't see that everyday,” Josh jokes, sending a strange look to Tyler. Tyler hops off of the ground and tries diving at his best friend.

  “Why did you push me?” He barks. Josh holds Tyler's face to keep the teen from hitting him. Tyler's fists windmill as he pushes towards Josh.

  “You usually aren't this angry. No more alcohol for you,” Josh admonishes, clicking his tongue.

  “You know,” Patrick says with a lilt, “We should celebrate the fact you two admitted your feelings—”

  “Yeah, with another party!” Pete encourages, jiggling his bag excitedly.

  “Don't threaten me with a good time,” Brendon says slyly, winking.

  Tyler screams as a bat flies downstairs and swoops over his head, all thoughts of punching his best friend abandoned.

* * *

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //I've no idea what I'm doing. So far, I've gotten quite a bit of positive feedback, but I'm still nervous about writing this. I'm having fun with this one, honestly. I just hope all the choices I make can be appreciated by you guys as well.   
>  I want to apologize for this late update! It was supposed to be up last week, but I've been busy, preparing christmas stuff for the family. (I'm drawing/making colouring books for my sisters. shh, don't tell.) Anyways, I won't be posting the third chapter until I have some of the fourth written(A policy I have, just in case I ever have cliff hangers for some stupid reason. I don't like those, so I'd keep 'em to a minimum).   
>  In the third chapter, you can expect mostly Joshler(Well, that's what I have for over half of it). I'm trying to give each ship a chance to show, and I'm hoping you guys like that.  
>  Give me feed back on what you guys think! Am I wasting my time at being funny? God, I hope not. I'm trying to be funny, but I'm afraid you guys are just staring at the screen with dead eyes, saying "wtf is this dialogue"  
> Also, I want to apologize for any errors you may see. I didn't get nearly as much time to edit the drafts as I'd like to, but I figured that looking over it three times was enough. I'm so sick of reading this chapter, and I don't want to read the first one ever again(If that tells you how many times I proof the chapters before posting them)  
> -Like what you read?  
> drop a Kudos to tell me how I've done, or bookmark the story to read more!  
> -Any questions, comments, concerns? Feel free to refer to my email: homicideandwritingprompts@gmail.com  
> or pop them into the comment box below.  
> If you want to have a personal chat, you can write to my email as well!   
> Anywho, I'm gone for now, Bumblebees, to work on the third chapter and watch Supernatural. I hope to see you around!  
> (PS: do you love Twenty One Pilots? Do you make fan art? Well download the AMINO app and join "clique artwork"! We are a loving community, we make/share different types of art, and the admins are fantastic! Go to my instagram and look at my most recent post--as of November 22, 2016--for a bit more information. If you click the name tagged in it, you will be able to directly ask the admins about it yourself!  
> My instagram: homicideandglitter_art  
> Tell them who sent you, and you can even DM me and say hi!)


	3. Panic! At The Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this week's episode, we have totally-not Joshler! (at least, that's what Tyler says.)  
> It was cold last chapter, wtf happened? Now everyone wants to cool off  
> #Ice cream  
> The title is serious  
> Someone is a begrudging little pervert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER***  
> -MILD LANGUAGE  
> -GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF AN ANXIETY/PANIC ATTACK  
> during the first section labeled "Tyler", in bold.  
> -SELF DEGRADATION/HOMOPHOBIA  
> also during the first section labeled "Tyler", and randomly through out the rest of the chapter  
> -SEXUAL CONTENT  
> begins under a set of "~~~*~~~" and ending with a second set of "~~~*~~~", so you can skip that part without any worries, if you are uncomfortable with that. (I also changed the rating to "Mature" for this very reason. If for some reason you believe it should be changed to "Explicit" as the story goes along, please tell me so I can properly warn newcomers.)  
> ***YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, PLEASE TREAD CAREFULLY, AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!***

**Josh—11:15 AM—Sunday, September 4 th**

  
  “Josh, wake up. C'mon, friend.” Josh wrinkles his nose, annoyed that his rest is being disturbed. He hears a very breathy laugh, and whatever he is using as a pillow shakes beneath his head.

  “Josh, come on!” There is more quiet laughter as something flutters against Josh's cheek. He swats irritably at the offending object, letting out a soft whine in protest. He grabs what is poking him and holds it, letting out an even louder grunt as the laughter continues.

  “Wha'dya want?” Josh gripes, his voice thick with exhaustion. This laugh is smaller, and Josh's pillow trembles in time with it.

  “I want cereal.” Josh awakens enough to realize he is talking to Tyler, but he doesn't care to open his eyes.

  “Well go get some,” Josh scowls back. Whatever he is holding twitches, but he pays no mind.

  “I would, but you are lying on me...and holding my hand.” Tyler reprimands, but he is grinning too wide to be taken seriously. Josh's eyes fly open and he bolts off of his friend. In his haste to get away, he tips over and falls face down on the floor with a sickening thud.

  “I'm so sorry,” Josh groans against the carpet as Tyler leans over his bed to get a look at his friend.

  “Josh, it's fine. I really don't care,” Tyler says, flattening himself on the bed so he could pat Josh.

  “Uhg, what time is it?” Josh inquires instead, trying to ignore his embarrassment. His friend lets out a humming noise as he leans around to glance at his alarm clock. He lazily rolls back onto his stomach and puts his chin on his folded arms.

  “Eleven O' Cereal.”

  “That's not a real time.”

  “It's Eleven O' Cereal somewhere,” Tyler says cheerfully, flopping onto the floor next to Josh. “Let's go eat breakfast, I'm hungry. I hid some Lucky Charms so no one could eat them.”

  “Do _I_ get to eat any?” Josh asks playfully, sitting up and stretching. Tyler does the same, letting out a yawn as well.

  “I guess,” Tyler sighs dramatically, bouncing up from the floor and holding a hand out for Josh to take. Josh takes the offered help and stands, stretching again when he lets go of his friend. “You better enjoy every bite, or else.”

  “Kinky,” Josh snorts, his grin getting bigger when Tyler flushes at the word.

  “Come on,” Tyler mutters, leading Josh out of his room and to the kitchen. When they make it to their destination, Tyler grabs a chair and pushes it to the counter to climb onto. Rather than open the cabinet he now stands in front of, he reaches above it and grabs a box of cereal.

  “Get the milk, will ya? I'll grab some spoons and bowls.” Tyler directs, sliding from the chair. Josh digs in the fridge for the gallon of milk hidden behind some lettuce, while Tyler puts the chair back and gets some silverware.

  “Here ya go,” Josh says, closing the door with his foot. He sets the milk on the table, and Tyler does the same with his goods.

  “You can make yours first, and I'll get us some juice. Do you like Capri Suns?”

  “Heck yeah,” Josh laughs, unscrewing the milk lid and pulling a plastic purple bowl to him. Tyler snorts, and is about to get them each a pouched juice, until he sees Josh pour milk into the bowl.

  “What are you _doing,_ Josh?” Tyler gasps, looking stricken. Josh doesn't look up as he caps the milk and unfolds the top of the cereal box. He raises an eyebrow as he shakes some cereal into his bowl and grabs a spoon.

  “Getting breakfast, what about you?”

  “That's _not how you eat cereal!_ The cereal goes in _before_ milk!” Tyler gasps. Josh swirls his cereal as he leans against the table, and then takes a bite. After swallowing, he answers.

  “It's how _I_ eat cereal. Keeps the oats from getting soggy,” Josh explains, spooning out a blue, artificial marshmallow. “Besides, we went over this last night in the grocery store.”

  “We did?” Tyler asks, blinking stupidly at his friend. Josh nods, the corners of his mouth twitching. Tyler shakes his head, dives into the fridge for juice, and comes back out with two pouches.

  “Hey,” Josh begins after a moment, watching Tyler pour his cereal, _then_ milk.

  “Hmm?” Tyler attempts as he puts away the milk; the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing is starting to grate Josh's nerves.

  “Why were you so grumpy this morning?”

  “Hungover,” Tyler answers gruffly, now glaring into his cereal as he sits down. Josh shifts his weight onto one leg, biting the inside of his lip.

  “It's just that you seemed upset about...about Brendon and Dallon liking each other,” Josh continues, choosing his words carefully. Tyler squints at him, before furrowing his brow.

  “No, I really was just grumpy. Why did you think that?” Tyler prompts, and Josh looks down at his cereal, not sure how to answer. Tyler senses this, and he drops his spoon with a clink. “Hey, you can tell me anything. What's wrong?”

  “It just kind of seemed...I don't know,” Josh sighs at last, feeling anxious and still not looking up. Tyler tilts his head.

  “You really can ask me anything, or tell me anything—whatever. I won't get upset,” Tyler reassures, smiling kindly. Josh swirls his cereal.

  “It just seemed like you had a problem with...uh, boys. Liking each other, I mean.” Tyler's eyebrows fly up, and the room is silent save for the occasional clicking of Josh's spoon against the plastic bowl.

  “I was upset for other reasons, Josh. Had nothing to do with Brendon and Dallon,” Tyler says, trying to get Josh to look at him. “Is there a reason you brought this up?”

  “No,” Josh replies quickly, snapping his eyes to his friend's. Tyler's eyes narrow.

  “You're hiding something from me,” Tyler accuses, and Josh frowns back.

  “We met a week ago. So what if I am?” Josh snaps in a salty tone, and Tyler looks hurt as he picks up his spoon.

  “Oh, I just thought...” Tyler trails off, and Josh suddenly feels guilty. “I thought you were my best friend. Sorry if I thought wrong.”

  “No, no,” Josh yelps quickly. “You are my best friend too!” Tyler's face brightens, before he becomes suspicious.

  “Then why won't you tell me what's going on?”

  “I don't want you to dislike me,” Josh sighs, taking a seat in front of Tyler. Tyler's foot bumps into Josh's knee, and he apologizes before replying.

  “I promise I won't think any different of you. Best friends don't dislike each other over small things.”

  “It's not a small thing. It's a big deal.”

  “I'm sure it's not.”

  “Ty, it is.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “I'm bisexual,” Josh finally snaps, eyes flaring. Tyler stares at him, half chewed cereal in his cheeks.

  “Oh,” Tyler says, swallowing the mush. “Uh, I guess that could be a big deal.”

  “ _'Could_ be'? It _is_ a big deal, Tyler,” Josh moans, pushing aside his bowl and slamming his head onto the table. Tyler winces, and reaches over to pat his friend's shoulder.

  “Hey, come on. There's nothing wrong with liking boys.” Tyler coos, but he sounds unsure of himself.

  “There is when the boy you like is straighter than the B's on my grade card.” Josh huffs, and Tyler snickers.

  “That's a funny analogy.”

  “Not helping.”

  “Sorry,” Tyler mutters, before perking up. “Who is the lucky guy?”

  “'Lucky'?” Josh echos, redirecting the sentence. Tyler takes the bait, and continues.

  “Anybody that has caught your eye is lucky. You are an amazing person, and I can only imagine how good this guy would feel if you told him. Who knows, maybe he is secretly gay, or something.”

  “He's dating a girl right now,” Josh says flatly, not interested in elaborating.

  “Well, I'm going to give you advice,” Tyler tells wisely, “flirt with the guy—drop hints like sick beats! Go take him out on a date—with out telling him it's a date—and do romantic stuff. Like, tuck his hair behind his ear or something—why are you laughing?”

  “Everything about your plan sucks, Ty. I told you he has a girlfriend,” Josh snorts. “Also, his hair isn't long enough to tuck behind his ear.”

  “Well that's his loss,” Tyler says grumpily.

  The two sit in silence as they eat, both content. Tyler keeps sending glances at Josh, who pretends not to notice for his own sake. That is, until Tyler stares at Josh's bowl instead, slowly moving his hand across the table. Without making eye contact, Tyler manages to get his spoon close to Josh's bowl.

  “Ty, I can see you trying to take my cereal; being slow and not making eye contact doesn't make you invisible.”

  Tyler quickly responds with, “You don't see anything,” before dipping his spoon into Josh's bowl. He is completely leaning over the table, still not looking at Josh, before he inches back into his seat. He eases the spoonful of partially soggy cereal into his mouth and chews slowly.

  “What did you do that for?” Josh asks, smiling so wide his eyes become crinkly. Tyler grins back, pleased to be the reason Josh is smiling, before he shrugs.

  “I just wanted your cereal.”

  “Ty, it's the exact same kind.” Josh responds, looking bewildered.

  “I know.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I like you,” Tyler cheers back, laughing. Josh's heart skips a beat as he musters an eye roll and an amused chuckle. He reaches over, pulls Tyler's cereal to him, and slides his bowl to Tyler.

  “There.” Josh prompts, nodding at his not-bowl of cereal. Tyler looks extremely satisfied as he digs right in, Josh shaking his head all the while. Josh finishes the cereal from Tyler's bowl, before hopping from his seat and going over to the sink.

  “You don't have to wash that; you're the guest.” Tyler chastises, bringing his own bowl to the sink as well. Josh rolls up the sleeves of his pink hoodie, cocks his hip, and twists the faucet.

  “I don't mind,” Josh says, waving Tyler away as he takes the bowl from his hand. Tyler's brow furrows as he pouts.

  “Fine,” Tyler complains, but he quickly brightens. “While you do that, then, I'm going to go set up Netflix or something in the living room. Put the dishes on the drying rack, there.” Tyler points to the object before going to the table and grabbing their unopened juice pouches and skipping into the living room. Josh snorts as he washes two bowls and two spoons, and then just because it was there, he rinses out a glass as well.

  Josh meanders into the living area to see that Tyler had made a pallet with a few blankets. He has a few cushions pushed against the couch to lean against, and the juices sit on separate pillows like mints at a hotel. Josh raises an eyebrow as he searches for his friend, only to not find him. Shrugging, Josh sits down, crossing his legs.

  “Ah, good, you're finished.” Tyler says, and Josh looks to his right to see Tyler walking down the hallway, presumably from his room. In his hand he holds two phones, one that belongs to Josh.

  “Yep,” is all Josh replies with, taking his phone when it is handed to him.

  “I think your mom texted you.” Tyler plops down next to Josh, grabs the remote, and pulls up Netflix.

  “Thanks,” Josh mutters distractedly, coming up with a reply for his mom. She had asked if he had a good time with Tyler, and wondered when he was coming home. “What time should I leave?”

  “Leave?” Tyler asks, looking away from the Television. “Oh! Well, you can go home whenever you want to. I don't think my mom will care if you stay longer...” Josh nods and types a similar response to his mother.

  “I'd like to hang out longer, if that's cool with you.”

  “It is,” Tyler grins, “ever watch Supernatural?” When Josh shakes his head, Tyler clicks on the Pilot episode before settling into the pillows. Both Josh and Tyler's phones ding with a notification.

 

* * *

**12:23 AM—Same day.**

_User_ **Bren_Done** _has added_ **Dallon Weekes** _and (_ **4** _) others to the chat!_

  


**Thnks Pt** _is typing…_

  


**Dallon Weekes:** What

  


**Patrick Stump:** Pete what is he doing

  


**Joshua Dun:** is this something you normally do

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I'm trying to watch tv, what do you want

  


**Bren_Done:** it's a group chat!

 **Bren_Done:** Now we can all talk and make plans to hang out

 **Bren_Done:** we can do secret agent stuff and investigate without anyone knowing what we are talking about.

  


**Thnks Pt:** Brendon, why must you do this.

 **Thnks Pt:** I already told you the other day that I think group chats are too hard to keep up with

 **Thnks Pt:** You can text or call us if you want to hang out, you used condom. Or, you know, ask us in person?

 **Thnks Pt:** and what kind of super secret bullshit are you even talking about

  


**Bren_Done:** excuse you.

 **Bren_Done:** it's “Secret Agent”, not “Super Secret”.

 **Bren_Done:** and too bad, taint cake. You are stuck here.

 **Bren_Done:** and we can talk about the investigation when Mikey logs on.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** is this what it's like to be friends with him

  


**Thnks Pt:** unfortunately.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I personally don't have a problem with it.

 **Dallon Weekes:** it could be fun, having a lot of people to talk to when you can't hang out in person

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Why is a skyscraper talking to me

  


**Joshua Dun:** ty no

  


**Bren_Done:** rUDE

 **Bren_Done:** dont talk to my skyscraper like that

  


**Dallon Weekes:** why are you calling me that

  


**Patrick Stump:** because you are tall

  


**Tyler Joseph:** because you are a tree

  


**Bren_Done:** because I like you<3

  


**Mikey Way:** gag

  


**Bren_Done:** mIKEY

  


**Mikey Way:** fOREHEAD

  


**Bren_Done:** why does everyone keep calling me that

  


**Patrick Stump:** because you have a large head

  


**Mikey Way:** what patrick said

  


**Thnks Pt:** I could land a helicopter on it

  


**Tyler Joseph:** your forehead is bigger than my whole future

  


**Joshua Dun:** I don't think you guys are being nice…

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I happen to like your forehead:)

  


**Mikey Way:** double gag

  


**Bren_Done:** Thank you, Dallon.

 **Bren_Done:** and you too Josh

 **Bren_Done:** you guys are my only friends.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** :)

  


**Tyler Joseph:** good does this mean I can leave

  


**Bren_Done:** no.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** gosh dang you

  


**Dallon Weekes:** lMAO WHAT

  


**Bren_Done:** SO INSULTED LMAO

  


**Mikey Way:** lol how precious

  


**Thnks Pt:** DANG

  


**Patrick Stump:** he even said gosh lol

  


**Thnks Pt:** trick, stop pretending you don't do the same

  


**Patrick Stump:** hey, don't put the heat on me

 **Patrick Stump:** its nice not having anyone bug me about my lack of swearing capabilities.

  


**Bren_Done:** okay let's stop making fun of titty baby tyler

 **Bren_Done:** we have things to discuss now that Mikey has answered

  


**Mikey Way:** don't talk about me as if im not here

  


**Thnks Pt:** wait where did Josh go

  


**Dallon Weekes:** there is also a distinct lack of Tyler, as well

  


**Bren_Done:** those fuckers

  


**Patrick Stump:** maybe they are busy or something

  


**Mikey Way:** no, they aren't

  


**Patrick Stump:** how do you know

  


**Mikey Way:** if you go to the right hand corner of your phone and click the three dots, it will tell you which users are active.

 **Mikey Way:** it also says the time that the user stopped reading messages.

 **Mikey Way:** Tyler is reading right now, actually.

 **Mikey Way:** which is weird, you fucker.

  


**Patrick Stump:** it's strange how you know these things

  


**Joshua Dun:** you offended him.

  


**Mikey Way:** me??

  


**Joshua Dun:** all of you.

 **Joshua Dun:** you shouldn't make fun of someone just because they don't swear.

 **Joshua Dun:** if you fuckers make fun of him again, you'll have hell to pay.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** jOSH YOU SWEAR?

  


**Joshua Dun:** only when I'm angry

 **Joshua Dun:** I just don't like bullies.

  


**Thnks Pt:** found tyler

  


**Bren_Done:** well

 **Bren_Done:** my gaydar is ringing

 **Bren_Done:** im getting the “Over protective boyfriend” alert

  


**Joshua Dun:** how would you feel if I punched Dallon

  


**Dallon Weekes:** oh hey leave me tf out of this please

  


**Bren_Done:** i'd rip you a new ass hole ok

  


**Joshua Dun:** oh no, there goes my “over protective boyfriend” alert

  


**Patrick Stump:** I didn't know you were so sassy Josh. I thought that all belonged to Tyler

  


**Tyler Joseph:** excuse me

  


**Mikey Way:** he didn't deny the boyfriend thing though

  


**Bren_Done:** of course I didn't, I'm dating him you moron

  


**Mikey Way:** not you!

 **Mikey Way:** Josh and Tyler

 **Mikey Way:** MORON.

  


**Bren_Done:** oh shit! TYLER AND JOSH SITTING IN A TREE

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I have a girlfriend

  


**Bren_Done:** K I S S I N G

 **Bren_Done:** oh

 **Bren_Done:** you aren't talking about Josh, either, are you?

  


**Thnks Pt:** please give it a rest, Bren.

 **Thnks Pt:** tell us what this stupid mission is about

 **Thnks Pt:** I really hate group chats

  


**Patrick Stump:** I agree with Pete, for once

  


**Thnks Pt:** “for once”? Excuse you

  


**Mikey Way:** so long as there isn't any couple shit, and I can deal with it

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I personally like the chat:(

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I would rather watch netflix than talk to you guys right now.

 **Tyler Joseph:** im still angry about this morning.

  


**Joshua Dun:** ty, not again, please

  


**Bren_Done:** shouldn't have opened your big mouth, then

  


**Tyler Joseph:** A FRICKING SOLO CUP

 **Tyler Joseph:** DID YOU KNOW THAT HAD A WET CIGARETTE BUTT IN IT

  


**Joshua Dun:** TYLER

  


**Dallon Weekes:** BRENDON!

  


**Mikey Way:** the boyfriends are on the move.

  


**Thnks Pt:** thats right, control them

  


**Patrick Stump:** Pete, shut up.

  


**Bren_Done** _has blocked_ **Tyler Joseph** _from the chat!_

  


**Thnks Pt:** real classy, B.

  


**Mikey Way:** good riddance, the little stalker

  


**Dallon Weekes:** well, if it keeps you guys from fighting, I guess it's fine

  


**Patrick Stump:** why add fuel to the fire, Brendon?

  


**Joshua Dun:** he's reading over my shoulder

 **Joshua Dun:** I don't appreciate this at all

 **Joshua Dun:** don't be petty and add him back to the chat.

  


**Bren_Done:** no way he's so salty

  


**Patrick Stump:** and you aren't?

  


**Joshua Dun:** He promised to be nice if you let him back into the chat.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I hope so

  


**Thnks Pt:** please block me

 **Thnks Pt:** please

  


**Mikey Way:** he can only come back if he participates.

  


**Bren_Done:** uhg, fine

  


**Bren_Done** _has unblocked_ **Tyler Joseph** _from the chat!_

**Bren_Done** _has added_ **Tyler Joseph** _to the chat!_

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I actually promised no such thing

 **Tyler Joseph:** but because I happen to like Josh, Patrick, and Pete—I will behave.

  


**Mikey Way:** what did I ever do to you

  


**Tyler Joseph:** you called me a stalker, you giraffe

  


**Mikey Way:** hey, Weekes is taller than me

  


**Dallon Weekes:** why don't any of you like me

  


**Thnks Pt:** I like you

  


**Patrick Stump:** we haven't talked much, but you seem nice

  


**Bren_Done:** <3

  


**Joshua Dun:** I mean you aren't that bad I guess

  


**Mikey Way:** I've only seen you in the hall, so I have no idea if I like you or not

  


**Tyler Joseph:** im just not a very agreeable person when alcohol is involved.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** thanks...I think.

  


**Thnks Pt:** if Brendon doesn't get to the point of this stupid chat I am jumping off the roof.

  


**Patrick Stump:** oh god, not again

  


**Bren_Done:** okay okay okay

 **Bren_Done:** what we are investigating is…

  


**Patrick Stump** did his phone die

  


**Thnks Pt:** I dunno

  


**Mikey Way:** I checked the stats, he's still reading.

  


**Joshua Dun:** then what is he waiting for

  


**Dallon Weekes:** it's been five minutes, Brendon

  


**Tyler Joseph:** dude I hate you today

  


**Bren_Done:** ICE CREAM

  


**Patrick Stump:** come again

  


**Thnks Pt:** I also hate you today

  


**Dallon Weekes:** oo, I like Ice Cream

  


**Mikey Way:** Brendon can sod off now. Good bye

_User_ **Mikey Way** _has_ _muted the chat_ _. They will receive messages when active again._

  


**Bren_Done:** it was a pause for dramatic effect. I had to keep you on your toes.

  


**Thnks Pt:** I'm going with Mikey, bye

  


**Bren_Done:** wait!

 **Bren_Done:** seriously, please don't go

 **Bren_Done:** please…

  


**Tyler Joseph:** …

  


**Thnks Pt:** Brendon, I'm not going anywhere.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** am I the only one missing something here

  


**Dallon Weekes:** nope

  


**Patrick Stump:** I'm pretty lost too

  


**Joshua Dun:** brb Brendon. I'm just making popcorn.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** oh make me some too

  


**Joshua Dun:** Im standing next to you, you could have told me in person.

  


**Bren_Done:** will he really be back?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** yeah

 **Tyler Joseph:** he seriously is making popcorn.

  


**Thnks Pt:** well, you have my attention again, B. Elaborate on the ice cream thing

  


**Bren_Done:** Oh right!

 **Bren_Done:** well, the park a couple blocks from my neighborhood has this new ice cream truck circling it.

 **Bren_Done:** I think since it's hot today, we should all hang out together and see if the ice cream is any count

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I'm down for it. I may be a bit late though, because I'm finishing homework I abandoned…

  


**Patrick Stump:** I'll go if Pete goes.

  


**Thnks Pt:** well fuck, I never turn down ice cream with my best friend.

 **Thnks Pt:** want me to pick you up, Trick?

  


**Patrick Stump:** sure

  


**Bren_Done:** awesome!

 **Bren_Done:** what about you and Josh?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** wait, me?

  


**Bren_Done:** you are the only one who didn't answer.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I thought you didn't like me

  


**Bren_Done:** I never said I didn't like you

 **Bren_Done:** you were just being grumpy earlier.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** well, I'm sort of hanging out with Josh right now

 **Tyler Joseph:** and since he is my guest, I'm letting him decide.

  


**Bren_Done:** okay I guess that is reasonable

  


**Joshua Dun:** I'mback

 **Joshua Dun:** and I'm down, as long as ty is cool with it.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** okay, I guess we are all meeting at the park

  


**Bren_Done:** great! Let's all meet up in thirty minutes, okay? I'll send you all the directions to the park.

 **Bren_Done:** Pete, text mikey and ask if he wants to go, since the douche bag logged off.

  


**Thnks Pt:** okay. Is it alright if I ask two of my friends to join us? I dont think you had a chance to meet them last night

  


**Bren_Done:** sure thing.

 **Bren_Done:** here is a screen shot of the park's address. You can send it to your friends too, Pete.

**Bren_Done** _has sent (_ **1** _) attachments!_

 

* * *

 

**Josh—12:50 AM**

  “Well that was eventful,” Tyler grumbles, tossing his phone onto a pillow. He glares at the Television, clearly annoyed that he has to start the episode all over again for Josh.

  “He just wants friends, Tyler,” Josh reprimands, taking a fist full of popcorn and setting it in the folds of his shirt. Tyler glances over at his friend, his expression softening.

  “So you caught that too, huh?” Tyler asks, taking a single kernel and inspecting it.

  “It's not hard to tell,” Josh sighs, leaning his head against the couch. “It's sad, actually. Brendon is clearly an amicable person.”

  “Yeah.” Tyler eats the popcorn piece, then restarts the episode. Josh isn't paying attention, though, his mind on something that still bothers him.

  “Are you sure you are alright with gay people?” Josh asks suddenly, causing Tyler to startle.

  “Why do you ask that? I thought we went over this.”

  “Because you were still kind of salty to Brendon and Dallon.” Josh worries, pinching a piece of popcorn too tightly; it crunches between his fingers. Tyler sighs and turns off the screen, knowing that he won't get to finish the episode one way or the other.

  “Josh, I'm going to tell you one more time,” Tyler says slowly, turning to his friend.

  “Here we go,” Josh mutters, getting an evil look from his friend before Tyler continues.

  “I have nothing against homosexuality. If someone is happy, they are happy; that's all that matters to me.”

  “Then why do you get all surly?” Josh retorts, narrowing his eyes. Tyler stares at him in disbelief.

  “Are we really arguing about this?”

  “It's just a conversation, Ty. I just want to know why you are acting like a dick.”

  “You said you don't swear unless you are angry. Therefore, we are arguing.”

  “Tyler,” Josh warns. Tyler scrambles to his feet, his face becoming red.

  “Want to know why I'm so 'surly', Josh? Because I'm jealous!” Tyler snarls, pointing his finger at the door. “They get to like who they want, they get to have happy relationships. They know who they are!”

  “Okay,” Josh coos, putting his popcorn back in the bowl and slowly standing. He holds his hands out in surrender.

  “Don't 'Okay' me!”

  “ _Now_ this is starting to sound like an argument,” Josh mutters grimly. Looking like a kicked puppy, Tyler's shoulders hunch in attempt to look smaller. He worries at his hands, scratching and pulling on his fingers.

  “I didn't mean to raise my voice,” Tyler grumbles, staring holes into the floor.

  “I know, Ty. How about you tell me what you mean?” Josh reasons, sitting on the couch and patting the seat next to him. Tyler stares at it for a long moment before sitting.

  “I don't know where to start.” Tyler has a whine to his voice.

  “Okay, let's start with why you are jealous.”

  “I told you why.”

  “Fine then,” Josh says irritably, “Tell me what you mean by them 'knowing who they are'.”

   Tyler sits there, weighing his words carefully. Josh can see him trying to think, can see the way his brow furrows a bit, his lips curling into a slight frown. Josh reaches over and pats Tyler's shoulder, and when his friend looks up, he gives him a big smile.

  “You can tell me anything, you know. Best friends don't dislike each other over small things,” Josh encourages. Tyler snorts, before shrugging.

  “Look, I'm not gay or anything—”

  “One hell of a way to start a sentence,” Josh interrupts bitterly, pulling away from Tyler.

  “No, that's not what I meant, you dork.” Tyler rolls his eyes, “I _mean_ I'm not gay, but I like a boy.”

  “Then you are bisexual, or pan—or something.”

  “No, you misunderstand,” Tyler sounds as frustrated as Josh looks.

  “Then help me understand.”

  “I have never, _ever_ looked at a guy and thought 'wow, what a dime piece. I wanna date him'. No super models, no actors, no ordinary people. I've always been that way with girls, though! I can look at a girl and get a crush on her or whatever—just not guys.”

  “Sounds pretty straight to me,” Josh shrugs, much to Tyler's irritation.

  “Listen to me, dang it. Anyways, where was I?”

  “'Just not guys'.”

  “Right. Just not guys; however, one day I suddenly see this boy and I can't stop thinking about him. It's confusing, because he is the only guy I can look at and think 'I'm definitely attracted to him'.” Tyler finishes, but rather than seeming relieved at getting this off of his chest, he just seemed more vexed. Josh sighs at his friend, feeling pity.

  “It kind of sounds like you found your soul mate,” Josh jokes, trying to make light of the situation. Tyler just leans so his head is resting on Josh's shoulder. He does this often, but today it makes Josh's heart stutter.

  “I don't think he likes me like that,” Tyler sighs. “And besides, I have a girlfriend.”

  “Well if you don't actually like her, you shouldn't continue the relationship. That just hurts her more in the long run, and makes _you_ more miserable,” Josh says wisely, trying to stay relaxed under Tyler's weight.

  “I guess you're right.” Tyler sits up, “I just don't want to lose her as a friend...and besides, I never said I was actually... _gay_...or whatever.” Josh refrains from rolling his eyes as he sits back.

  “Don't say 'gay' as if it's a disease.” Josh slaps Tyler's shoulder, and his friend gives him a small smile.

  “I just don't know what to do Josh. I thought I had everything figured out. And then _this guy_ walks into my life.” Tyler looks frustrated again, and Josh soothes him as best as he can. He tries to reassure Tyler, but his friend is way too conflicted—if not in denial—to be consoled. Soon, they both get a text from Brendon telling them he is already at the park, so the two friends clean up their mess, stick on shoes, and begin the ten minute trek to the park.

 

* * *

**Brendon—1:15 Pm, same day**

  Brendon circles a picnic table under a large maple tree, bundling up in his jacket. The forecast today was supposed to be sunny and warm. Brendon peers through the leaves, up at the bright, cloudless sky. At least the forecast got _something_ right. Brendon is about to text his friends and tell them it may be too chilly for ice cream, until he hears someone call his name. He stills his pacing and looks up to see Pete and Patrick waving at him.

  The two wander through the playground and cross the bridge to get to the small, secluded picnic table. When they reach their destination, Pete pulls Brendon into an excited hug.

  “I didn't know there was a creek at this park,” Pete says excitedly, waving his hand towards the bridge he had crossed. Brendon smiles.

  “It's always been there, Pete. I used to catch periwinkles from under that bridge.”

  “Aren't Periwinkles snails? Not much catching to be done, instead just plucking them off of a rock.”

  “Catch, plucking, whatever,” Brendon snorts, putting his hands in his pockets. “I thought that Periwinkle meant star, so I tried making wishes off of them.”

  “You are so cute,” Pete mocks, sitting on the table. Patrick sits on the seat like a normal person, while Brendon looks around for more of his friends.

  “Is Mikey coming?” Brendon worries, brow furrowed. Pete nods, even though his friend wasn't looking at him.

  “Yeah. His mom is bringing him and Gerard, but they have to pick up Frank, too.” Patrick tells, rolling his eyes at Pete.

  “Gerard—Mikey's brother?” Brendon asks, bouncing on his toes as he looks back to his friends.

  “Yeah. And his boyfriend-crush-thing, Frank. No one is sure what they are yet, but they only met Friday and are _already_ making out.” Pete cackles, and Patrick pushes him.

  “Shut up Pete, that's not nice. They aren't _making out_ I'm sure….”

  “Eh, Making out, not making out. Same thing!”

  “It's really not,” Patrick sighs, shaking his head. Pete winks at Brendon to show he is just messing with the strawberry blond.

  “Sure it is. Anyways, Bren, those two definitely have some chemistry, if you know what I mean. You can just tell.”

  “That's fucking weird,”Brendon says absently, no longer scanning the park. “Who ever heard of a 'chemical' romance? That just sounds like you're making stuff in a lab or something.”

  “Well it's _my_ chemical romance, and I happen to like it, thank you very much,” someone voices, and Brendon looks to his left to see Gerard, Mikey, and Frank crossing the bridge. Well, the brothers are crossing the bridge. It seems that Frank is trying to just jump _over_ the fucking creek.

  “That would be a cool band name,” Frank says excitedly when he successfully scrambles up the bank.

  “My chemical romance?” Gerard asks, grabbing Frank's hand as they get closer to the table. Mikey is just scowling, his head down.

  “Sure.” Frank replies, clambering onto the table next to Pete.

  “You know, my band doesn't have a name yet. I think I'll just call it that.” Gerard says simply, and Mikey snorts.

  “You don't know if Ray or Bob will go with it. It's a group consensus, you ass.” Mikey gripes, and Brendon raises a brow.

  “You seem really salty today.”

  “Because Gerard gave me a fucking black eye!” Mikey snaps, raising his head so his friends could see. Frank doubles over laughing as Gerard puffs out his chest.

  “False! The _car_ gave you a black eye, you dork.”

  “Well, that's your fault, too.” Mikey replies, crossing his arms.

  “How did the car give you a black eye...and not crack your glasses?” Patrick asks, looking really put out by the thought. Gerard waves his hands frantically.

  “Let me tell you a thing!” Gerard laughs, standing up so he could tell the story.

 

* * *

 

**Gerard—t** **wenty** **minutes previous**

  “I call shot gun!” Mikey yells as he runs towards his mom's car. Gerard bolts out the front door, pushes Mikey onto the hood of the car, and scrambles into the front seat.

  “Not today!” Gerard snickers, buckling himself in. Mikey rights his glasses and opens the passenger door.

  “Not fair, you fucker. Move!” Mikey barks, grabbing his brother's jacket sleeve. Gerard just laughs as his mother locks the front door and gets into the car.

  “Respect your elders, Moikey. The little kids ride in the back.” Gerard teases, pulling his jacket out of Mikey's grip.

  “Mom, I called shot gun, though!” Mikey whines, but his mother just sighs.

  “Mikey, it's not even a ten minute drive to the park. Just get in the back, please,” Their mom pleads, pinching the bridge of her nose. Mikey bristles angrily and slams the door, bumping Gerard's shoulder.

  “Micheal James Way, I saw that!” His mom barks, locking the doors before Mikey could get into the car. “With that attitude, you can just _walk_ to the park!” Mikey contemplates this, shrugs, and turns on his heel to walk down the drive way.

  “I didn't think he'd go out without a fight,” Gerard says in amusement, watching his brother in the rear view mirror. His mother lets out a hiss as she rolls down her window.

  “I was kidding! Get your ass in the car, Micheal, I'm not letting you walk all that way to the park!”

  “Why are you so contradicting?” Mikey asks as he makes his way back to the car, grinning at his mom. “ _'_ _Walk to the park, Mikey, get it the car, Mikey_ _'_.”

  “Just get in,” Their mother snaps, unlocking the doors. Mikey stumbles as he makes his way back to the car, stopping his fall with his hands and successfully sending his glasses to the ground.

  “Ah, fuck,” Mikey whines, and his mother sighs again.

  “I heard that!” She barks, leaning around Gerard to see if Mikey was alright. “Are you bleeding?”

  “No, I just dropped my glasses,” Mikey complains as he rights himself. He cleans his spectacles with his shirt while he attempts opening the car door. Unfortunately, the lock had gotten stuck, so he tugs harder on the handle. “Mom, you have to unlock the door so I can get in!”

  “I _did_ unlock the doors!” She replies, hitting the button. Mikey tugs even harder at the door, only to have nothing happen. “I think the lock is messed up again. Gerard, pull the latch for him.”

  “Okay.” Gerard unbuckles, spins around in his seat, and flicks the lock on the back door. It flies open and the corner of the door slams into Mikey's face. Mikey doubles over, holding his hands over his eye.

  “God _dammit_!” Mikey yells. He scrubs hard at his sore eye, red and purple dots swimming in his vision. Gerard laughs so hard he falls back against the dash, while his mother is shouting the word “Karma!” over and over.

  “Mom, you are supposed to ask if I'm alright, not tell me that was karma!” Mikey snarls, covering his offending eye. His other eye is watering as he grips his glasses and just stands there, looking like a miserable child.

  “Are you alright?” His mom asks. Gerard sobers up, wiping his own tears out of his eyes as he leans over the seat to inspect his brother.

  “No, the car just hit me in the eye!”

  “I think you _look_ okay to me,” Gerard jokes, and begins to laugh again.

  “If you don't quit laughing at my expense, I will tell Frank that you masturbate to his Facebook picture—”

  “I do not!” Gerard gasps, swinging his fist towards his brother. Mikey ducks out of the way, cursing once more. Then, he puts on his glasses and swats angrily at Gerard's fists.

  “I'm fed up with you two!” Their mother yells, “If you both don't get your asses in your seats, you can forget going to the park!” The boys quickly situate themselves after that, knowing they have tested their mother enough. She lets out a relived sigh as she starts the car. Twisting in her seat so she could back out of the driveway, she spares a glance at Mikey before looking back at the road.

  “Are you okay, Hun?” Mikey looks up at her, and she can tell that his eye is going to bruise..

  “I'm fine, mom.”

  “Alright, Dear. Now, Gee, tell me where Frank lives.”

–

  “Hey, Frankie!” Gerard says when Frank comes to the car. Frank grins as he leans into Gerard's open window.

  “Hey, Gerard!” Frank mimics, “Hello, Mrs. Way,” Frank adds, waving at the woman. She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  “Hello, Frank, it's a pleasure to meet you,” She says kindly, then looks at her eldest son. “You were right, dear. He _is_ quite the looker, huh?” Frank and Gerard both turn red, while Mikey laughs in the back seat.

  “M-mom!” Gerard yelps awkwardly, covering his face.

  “Ah, three cheers for sweet revenge!” Mikey snickers, and then belts out three hoots at his brother's expense.

  “Shut up Mikey, and switch seats with me,” Gerard says grumpily, pushing open his door and getting out of the car.

  “What, why?” Mikey snarls, glaring at his brother.

  “So I can sit with Frank. Besides, you said you wanted to sit up front anyways.”

  “You only sat up front to spite me, didn't you?” Mikey growls, tightening his seat belt.

  “Yep. Now move, you little shit.”

  “Gerard!” His mother complains, but he only shrugs in reply.

  “You sat up front to spite me, now I'm going to sit in the back to spite _you._ ”

  “How about this,” Their mother says. The three boys look at her, but she is only speaking to Frank. “Frank, dear, sit upfront. Right now.” Frank shrugs and does as he is told, and Gerard gapes.

  “What, where is Mikey supposed to sit?” Gerard asks his mother.

  “In the back, with _you_ , sweetie. I'm not going to listen to you two argue,” She says, dropping her shades back onto her nose. “Besides, it will give me a chance to talk to Frank.”

  Gerard and Mikey both make loud complaining noises all the way to the park.

 

* * *

 

**Brendon—present moment**

  “—And that's the story of how Mikey got a black eye, and Frank got to sit up front.” Gerard finishes. He obviously omitted a few parts of the story, including Mikey's threat. Mikey, realizing what had happened, grins and leans forward to put in his two cents.

  “Gerard, you didn't tell them what I threatened you with.” Mikey reminds him sweetly, and everyone looks back to Gerard.

  “Doesn't matter,” Gerard says nonchalantly.

  “I'm pretty curious to hear what it was. It must have been bad for you to not tell us,” Brendon says evilly, leaning against Mikey when the boy sits on the table.

  “Gerard masturbates to Frank's Facebook picture!” Mikey yells. Frank chokes on his saliva, doubling over as he nearly coughs up a lung.

  “What the fuck?” Pete asks, laughing. Gerard, determined to look unbothered by this lie, winks at Frank (who coughs even harder).

  “Why is it always masturbation with you guys?” Josh asks, walking over to the table with a gloomy Tyler in tow.

  “Josh! Tyler! You showed up,” Brendon says excitedly, bouncing away from the group to greet the newcomers.

  “Of course we did,” Josh says brightly, clapping a hand on Brendon's shoulder. “Why wouldn't we?”

  “I figured you guys didn't like me too much,” Brendon says sheepishly.

  “Of course we like you. Tyler just has a stick up his butt right now,” Josh assures, much to Tyler's irritation.

  “Frick off, Josh,” Tyler scoffs, pushing his friend. “So, do you still think it's warm enough to eat ice cream?”

  “It will be as the day progresses. I'm sure that by the time Dallon gets here, the Ice cream truck will make it's round.” Brendon leads them over to the table, and Josh sits on the empty bench across from Patrick. Tyler stands unsure before scuttling into the seat next to Josh, scooting as close as he can to his friend.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Patrick asks, and Brendon hums.

  “We could certainly talk about why no one helped me get that bat out of my house.”

  Here we go.

  “Bat…?” Frank asks innocently shooting a look towards Gerard.

  “Yeah, a bat. You know, the sky fish that comes out at night, and makes it's way into my house when two boys forget to shut my back door?” Brendon accuses merrily, grinning at Gerard and Frank, the obvious culprits.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Gerard says, looking at Frank. “Do you know what he's talking about, Frankie?”

  “Sky fish, huh?” Frank digresses, “I like fish. Cute fish! I bet there are some fish in the creek. I'm going to go look, okay, bye!” Frank hurries off of the table and scuttles down into the creek.

  “Frank, what the fuck,” Gerard barks, scrambling after him. “It's too cold to get in the water!”

  “He's definitely guilty,” Mikey snorts. The small group watch as Frank takes off his sneakers and socks, then rolls up his jeans to climb into the creek. Gerard shuffles on the bank, trying to convince the little dare devil to get out of the water.

  “You're guilty, too, Mikey,” Brendon accuses. Mikey scoffs in reply. “You weren't at my party last night! I know for a fact you were invited.”

  “Mom wanted me to play scrabble with her last night,” Mikey complains, scrunching up his nose.

  “You missed a party...to play scrabble?” Pete asks slowly, staring at his friend like he had grown an extra head.

  “I didn't have fun,” Mikey says, slumping against the table. Brendon rolls his eyes.

–

  The group had been at the park for nearly an hour, and it had definitely gotten much warmer out. Dallon had text them, saying he was going to be later than he had intended, and everyone had become impatient for the ice cream truck. Frank and Gerard stopped playing in the creek—thank God—but only because something brushed against Gerard's hands when he went to 'make a wish' on one of the Periwinkles.

  The only two people who seem unbothered by the heat are Josh and Tyler. While everyone else is carefully keeping distance from one another to cool off, Tyler has his head in Josh's lap, and Josh is amusing himself by patting a soft rhythm on Tyler's chest. Tyler doesn't seem to mind this at all—actually, he is rather impressed by Josh's ability to keep a steady tempo while he pretends to make music. When asked about it, Josh just replies with “I play the drums”, and continues.

  “When the fuck is the ice cream truck coming 'round?” Brendon groans, no longer amused by watching Josh and Tyler. Brendon sways dramatically before falling off of the picnic table, and onto the shaded dirt. Frank bobs up and down next to Gerard, grinning.

  “I scream, you scream, we all scream for Ice cream!” Frank cheers

  “Why would anyone be screaming?” Patrick mutters, tugging at his shirt collar.

  “I scream, you scream, we all scream—'cause _we are terrified_ of what's around the corner!” Tyler sings, raising his fist in the air. Everyone stares at his raised fist (the only part of him anyone could see) before Frank leans over and peers down at him.

  “What song is that? I've never heard that version before.” Frank giggles, and Tyler rolls his eyes.

  “It's called forest...I wrote it,” Tyler looks a bit shy, now. Before Frank could reply, Brendon interrupts him to start bitching.

  “Well sing it a bit louder, and maybe the Ice cream guy will hear you,” Brendon snaps grumpily on the ground, looking a bit down trodden.

  “Stop being rude. I only _just_ got Tyler to stop being a prick,” Josh sighs, and Tyler sticks his tongue out at his friend. Frank sits back up to shed his jacket, making complaining noises to Brendon all the while.

  “I can't believe it got hot again,” Gerard huffs, leaning against Frank.

  “Get the fuck off of me, it's like a million degrees!” Frank complains, shoving Gerard off of him.

  “But Frankie,” Gerard whines.

  “But _nothing_ , you twit,” Frank gripes, but scoots a bit closer to Gerard anyways.

  “It's not even that hot,” Mikey snorts, looking at the forecast on his phone. The reports say that the highest today would be 75°F, and the lowest would be in the fifties. “Stop complaining so much.”

  Patrick takes off his fedora and fans himself with it, looking annoyed.

  “Autumn pisses me off. Is it hot? Is it cold? No one fucking knows!” Patrick says grumpily, and there are a few chuckles.

  “Wow, the saint is saying bad words,” Pete jokes, poking his friend. “That's a sin, you know.”

  “That's not the only sin I'll perform, if this heat doesn't dissipate soon.” Patrick violently wipes a bit of sweat from his forehead before putting his hat back on.

  “Oo, Kinky,” Frank laughs, earning a disheartened chuckle from Brendon, who refuses to get off of the ground.

  “I was thinking along the lines of murder, fuck nut.”

  “Wow, you really are grumpy today,” Gerard observes absently, staring a hole into Brendon's back. Doesn't he realize that all of that dirt is...dirty? Patrick groans and places his head on the table, between Frank's shoes (who currently sits cross legged on the table, bouncing his knees like a child).

  “Hey guys, look who finally made it,” Dallon announces, picking his way around rocks and piles of dirt to meet the group. He stops in front of Brendon, tilting his head in confusion. “Bren, why are you laying face down in the dirt?”

  “Isn't that a Red-Jumpsuit Apparatus song?” Pete asks, smirking. Tyler, who still has his head Josh's lap, starts to sing once more.

  “ _Face down in the dirt, she said this doesn't hurt—_ ” Patrick intervenes Tyler's cheerful singing with a groan.

  “Tyler, please!” Patrick complains, and then turns to Frank, who is still bouncing in place. “And Frank, how are you so flipping energetic right now? You are literally wearing all black, and you have somehow managed to have more energy than Brendon!”

  “To be fair, Frank seems to always be energetic,” Pete points out. “I can't even tell you how many times he has kicked my seat during first period.”

  “Piss off,” Frank gripes.

  “And Brendon?” Dallon comments, receiving a grunt in reply. “You are kind of being a salted slug right now.” Dallon not-so-gently nudges Brendon with the toe of his sneaker, his brow furrowed. Brendon gives him another tired hum.

  “I'm excited,” Frank begins, “because when the ice cream truck comes around, Gerard is going to buy me a Popsicle.”

  “I am?” Gerard teases, even though he had already told Frank he was going to buy the frozen treats.

  “Yep,” Frank pops the 'p', and continues to jiggle his knees.

  “Is there a reason why you want a Popsicle instead of an ice cream cone?” Mikey snorts, giving his friend a strange look. Frank shrugs.

  “Lactose intolerant. Besides, I like the banana ones.”

  “Ew, banana,” Josh groans, and Tyler sits up.

  “You don't like Bananas either? _Sick._ ” Tyler giggles, and the two high-five. Dallon takes a seat next to Tyler's out stretched feet, staring at the two dorks who keep high-fiving each other. Josh and Tyler pat their hands together, both of them grinning like idiots.

  “I'm just waiting for you to realize how ridiculous you look,” Dallon says, directing attention to the pair.

  “We don't look ridiculous!” Tyler snorts, still slapping his hand against Josh's.

  “Yeah, Dallon,” Pete says sarcastically. “They look _in love_ , obviously.” Tyler's hand stills against Josh's, the colour draining from his face as he thinks about what Pete said.

  “That's right,” Patrick hums thoughtfully. “Lovers usually do just as you two are doing. Sprawled across each other's lap, holding hands.”

  “We aren't holding hands,” Tyler yelps quickly, and before he could sit up and scoot away, Josh locks their fingers together and pushes him back down.

  “There's nothing wrong with best friends holding hands, or being close to one another.” Josh grins, then he takes a look at his 'best friend'. “Right, Ty?”

  Trembling a bit, Tyler softly says “yes” and closes his eyes. He can hardly believe that Josh grabbed his hand, and he isn't quite sure what to do about it. Josh holding his hand now is _much_ different from when they first woke up. For one thing, they are out in public, with all of their new friends _watching_ them. What if they think Tyler likes boys? What if, god forbid, they think he likes _Josh_?

  Tyler quickly sits up, tugs his hand out of Josh's grip, and scrambles off of the bench. Everyone stares at his abrupt attempt to get away, confused. Heart fluttering for reasons he wishes to not think about, Tyler doubles over and tries to catch his breath.

  “I need to go to the restroom. I'll be back,” He gasps, and pulls a crumpled Ten dollar bill from his back pocket. He throws it into Josh's lap to avoid touching him again, and mutters “buy us both something when the truck shows up” before darting across the bridge.

  “What the fuck was that?” Mikey asks, watching the teenager shuffle across the playground and go into the public restrooms.

  “Whatever it was, it didn't look very good,” Gerard replies grimly. Before anyone could get up and check on their friend, a merry jingle wafts towards them. Everyone perks up at the sound, backs ridged as they try to identify the tune—all thoughts of Tyler completely abandoned.

  “Is that—?” Patrick begins, only to cut himself off as Pete begins to sing.

  “ _All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chases the weasel. The monkey thought twas all in good fun—POP goes the weasel!_ ” Pete cheers gleefully, pointing at the ice cream truck. Frank flaps his legs again, this time shaking Gerard excitedly. Brendon suddenly bolts up at the sound of the glorious, old ice cream truck rattling down the path.

  “ICE CREAM!” Brendon shrieks, dirt sticking to his sweat stained face. He scrambles off the ground and darts towards the vehicle. The truck is a muted pink, the paint chipped after many years of use. With a gigantic, plastic ice cream cone spinning mechanically on top, The truck's ugliness was almost enough to distract you from the warbled music playing through hidden speakers. The song sounds painfully electronic, but to the group of teenagers, it is heavenly.

  Gerard sighs as he inches off of the table top, intentions to buy Popsicles for him and Frank. He leaves with Pete to join Brendon, telling Mikey and Frank to stay where they are, so he could pay. Patrick seems content to stay in the shade with them, and puts his head back on the table again.

  “Hey, Dallon?” Josh asks, standing as the other boy does. Dallon nods at him to continue. “Could you buy Ty and me some frozen yogurt or something? I need to go check on him.” Josh holds out the bill Tyler had given him, looking worried.

  “Sure thing.” Dallon smiles as he takes the money, then breaks off into a jog to catch up with the truck.

–

**Tyler**

  Tyler is having an anxiety attack, and he knows it. He leans against the only sink in the bathroom, the faucet spewing a heavy spray of cold water as Tyler hyperventilates above it; he occasionally tries splashing the water on his face in an attempt to calm himself. When he realizes the water isn't helping, though, he snaps the knob down to turn off the water. Tyler grips the sink, trying not to cry as a fluttering feeling spreads from his chest, up into his throat. He chokes on the unsettling feeling, his lips buzzing from quickly sucking in air.

  Tyler knows he is breathing, and he knows his heart isn't actually going to burst, but the pounding in his ears scare him anyways. Every time he inhales, the oxygen seems to aggravate the anxiety stirring in his chest, making him want to stop breathing all together. Tyler tries to hold his breath in an attempt to even it out, but that just seems to make things worse.

 _This is all my fault,_ Tyler thinks miserably, crying as his knees give out and he slides to the ground. His breathing quickens when he realizes he is no longer standing. _I just had to fall for my stupid best friend. I'm disgusting, and vile, and he will probably hate me if he finds out. Oh god, he can't find out! What if he_ _ **does**_ _find out, though? He will probably be disgusted with me. He won't want to hang out, or share his cereal, or hold my hand..._ Tyler lets out a racking sob as his thoughts get continuously more degrading.

  “Tyler!” He hears his name being called, but he can't manage to open his eyes—when did he close them?—to see who is falling beside of him. “Tyler, please, what's wrong?”

  “J—Jo—sh—sh?” Tyler gasps, his eyes flying open when he is being pulled to someone's chest. He grabs at Josh's shirt, griping it tight as his body tremors uncontrollably. Tyler tries to gulp in more air to breathe, and Josh's hands flit around uselessly.

  “Yes, it's me, Ty,” Josh says, urging Tyler to lie in his lap. “Tyler, you are having a panic attack.”

  “I kn—know—know!” Tyler pants, his jaw quivering.

  “Well, I'm going to help you calm down, okay?” Josh says calmly, trying not to show how panicked he really is. Tyler is beginning to feel nauseated, and his vision swims with purple dots.

  “Josh!” Tyler yelps, hiccuping. “Fain—fainting! Vision going b—black!” Josh shushes him gently, sweeping a hand over Tyler's hair.

  “Tyler, close your eyes, you'll be okay. Your body is just trying to shut down because you are way too stressed out. I said to close your eyes!” Josh orders gently, and Tyler squeezes them shut. Tyler's breathing has yet to even, and tears still escape.

  “Tyler, I'm going to call Pete and the others, so they can help me keep people from coming in here, alright?” Josh coos, and Tyler nods quickly. Josh pulls his phone out of his hoodie pocket and quickly makes a call to the group chat.

  “Hello?” Brendon voices on the other end, sounding confused.

  “Brendon? It's Josh. Put me on speaker.” There is a bit of shuffling on the other end, a loud _thud,_ and a few swears before Brendon tells Josh to speak.

  “What do you guys know about panic attacks?” Josh asks, hearing his voice echo back to him. He gently shushes Tyler, rubbing calming circles onto his friend's chest.

  “Why? Are you having one?” Brendon asks seriously, and Josh begins to shake his head.

  “No, but Tyler is. We are in the bathroom, so please send some help.” Josh ends the call with that, and grabs Tyler's right hand.

  “I can't brea—breathe!” Tyler sobs, his cries getting louder as their friends burst into the restroom, looking winded from running.

  “Tyler? Hey, Tyler?” Josh pleads, wincing as his friend squeezes their hands together. “You are breathing, you are going to be okay, I promise!” As soon as Josh says this, though, Tyler stops gasping for breath. Actually, he stops breathing all together.

  As soon as the boy realizes this, his eyes fly open and he tries to sit up, gripping his throat. Tears fall silently down Tyler's cheeks as he tries to remember how to breathe. He turns so he is facing Josh, sucking in a breath, but unable to exhale it back out.

  “Tyler?” Josh yelps, tugging the boy back to his chest. Tyler is pulled so quickly that air _whooshes_ from his mouth from surprise; he starts hyperventilating again.

  “Josh, it h—hurts!” Tyler moans, “My chest hurts!”

  “Someone get some wet paper towels!” Josh barks angrily at the group of boys. Patrick and Pete leap into action first, turning to the others.

  “All of you, get out. Make sure no one comes in here—tell people the door is locked, if you have to.” Pete demands, ushering the group out the door as Patrick gingerly steps over Tyler and Josh to wet a few paper towels. Patrick folds each towel and begins to place them on Tyler's neck and exposed arms to cool him off.

  “Tyler, put your hand on my heart,” Josh decides, unzipping his coat. He grabs Tyler's hand and places it on his chest. Then, he does the same with his own hand. “Now look me in the eye.”

  “Why?” Tyler chokes, not seeing any point in this.

  “Because we are going to slow your heart rate. Can you feel my heart?” Josh asks, and Tyler sniffles hard.

  “Y—yes.”

  “Sick,” Josh encourages, then uses his free hand to tip Tyler's chin up. “Tell me what you see, Tyler.”

  “I see you,” Tyler responds, pressing his hand even harder into Josh's chest.

  “Good. You can see me breathing, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright, now I want you to inhale and exhale when I do. You seem to know a lot about music, right? Do you know how to count a 4/4 beat?”

  “Yes,” Tyler repeats, clenching his teeth and wiggling around as he tries to force himself to relax. Josh nods, keeping his eyes locked on Tyler's.

  “We are going to inhale for four counts, and exhale for four counts. I will tap the beat on your thigh, okay?”

  “Okay.” Tyler whimpers pitifully. Josh takes his hand from Tyler's chin and places it on his friend's thigh instead; He begins to pat.

  “And….inhale,” Josh begins. He breathes in time to his finger taps, waiting patiently for Tyler to do the same. Tyler takes several shuddering breathes, and at one point, he began to hyperventilate again. However, what ever it is that Josh is doing seems to help, and after about six measures worth of tapping, Tyler had calmed down considerably.

  “It's working,” Pete says, looking surprised.

  “You hear that, Ty?” Josh prompts, still tapping for Tyler. “It's working. Your heart rate has gone down, as well.” Tyler doesn't say anything, just keeps breathing. Pete and Patrick bend down to change the paper towels, while Josh stays still, letting Tyler make the first move. There is a knock on the restroom door, and Pete and Patrick share a look.

  “It's Gerard,” comes a muffled greeting, and Pete stands to open the door. Gerard holds up a bottle of water and a can of sprite. Their friends wait impatiently outside the door, looking worried.

  “That for Tyler?” Patrick asks, and Gerard bobs his head.

  “Yep. Water to hydrate him, and sprite to ease the nausea.” Gerard hands them to Pete, who slides to the ground and holds them out to Tyler. Tyler glances over, and with a shaking hand, grabs the bottle of water.

  “Thank you,” Tyler murmurs, his throat scratchy from breathing so hard. Gerard just smiles as he steps back outside.

  “We are out here when you are ready,” Gerard assures, and then shuts the door behind him.

  “Do you want me to let you go?” Josh asks as Tyler sips his water slowly. Tyler caps the bottle and sets it next to him. Then, he rubs his tear stained face with his knuckles.

  “If you want to,” Tyler says, sounding unsure, and Josh sighs; he is still tapping the rhythm.

  “I only want to know what _you_ want.” Josh says, unmoving.

  “I want to go to sleep, and never wake up,” Tyler whispers. Since the anxiety had settled for now, a dark cloud seemed to take its place. Tyler feels embarrassed to have his friends see him like this, and he isn't quite sure what to do with all the attention he is getting for it. He just wants the day to be over with.

  “How about I take you home, and we can take a quick nap,” Josh compromises, unwilling to show how much it scared him to hear his best friend say something like that. Tyler hums in agreement, and Josh nods to Patrick and Pete.

  “Okay, Slugger. Pat and I are going to help you stand, alright?” Pete asks, taking one of Tyler's arms.

  “Alright,” Tyler echos. Patrick takes Tyler's other arm and lifts him up. With Tyler moved from his lap, Josh is able to quickly stand and stretch. The boys let Tyler go, but when he takes a step forward, he tumbles into Josh.

  “Tyler?” Josh yelps, and Tyler hisses.

  “I'm fine, my legs are just a bit shaky.” Tyler leans against Patrick and Pete. Josh narrows his eyes, turns around, and squats.

  “I'm carrying you home. There's no way in hell I'm going to let you pass out and crack your head open.” Tyler's eyes bug out of his head, and he begins to stutter a response.

  Patrick interrupts Tyler's frantic babbling. “Tyler, he has a point. No one will judge you, jeez.”

  “The sooner you hop on my back, the sooner you can take a nap,” Josh reminds, and Tyler lets out a defeated sigh.

  “Fine.” He scrambles onto Josh's back, and once situated, his friend straightens up. “Whoa!” Tyler yelps, tightening his limbs to keep from falling. Josh laughs lightly, putting his hands under Tyler's knees for extra support.

  “I've got you, Ty,” Josh says sweetly. “I won't let you fall.”

  “I already have,” Tyler whispers grumpily, and Josh stiffens.

  “What?”

  “I want to go now,” Tyler says instead, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. Josh nods and walks to the door that Pete opens for him. Patrick follows Josh out of the restroom with the two beverages in his hands, looking fretfully at Tyler.

  “How are you feeling?” Brendon asks, the first to see the four teenagers exit. The others are all piled together on the grass, eating ice cream. Tyler doesn't lift his head, and mutters a quick “sleepy” as his reply.

  “What'd he say?” Brendon inquires, since Tyler's response had been muffled.

  “He said he is sleepy. I'm going to take him home so he can sleep of his episode,” Josh elaborates, taking the drinks from Patrick.

  “Here, Dallon went to the store to buy these, and we still have the plastic bag,” Mikey says quickly, grabbing said bag and hopping off of the ground. He takes the drinks from Josh, places them in the bag, and couples them with two closed containers of frozen yogurt.

  “It's easier to carry like this,” Mikey explains, handing Josh the bag. Josh nods in thanks, then bounces on his toes to shift Tyler.

  “Ack!” Tyler yelps, scrambling to find purchase.

  “Tyler, it's fine! I said I got you,” Josh soothes, folding his arms under Tyler's legs again.

  “Get well soon, Tyler,” Frank chirps from the ground once Tyler is calmed. As soon as he says this, everyone else is putting in their two cents of well wishes. Tyler tries to thank them, but quietens when he finds he is becoming redundant.

  Josh and Tyler say goodbye, and then they are on their way down the road towards Tyler's house.

–

  Tyler leans gloomily into Josh as they walk, his chest heavy and his head numb. He closes his eyes and focuses on the way Josh bounces a bit as he walks, hands firmly holding Tyler's legs. Tyler focuses on the bag as it slaps against Josh's hip, the plastic crinkling with each movement. He focuses on everything except for the stupid thoughts running through his mind.

  Of course, the more you want to forget about something, the more it sticks around. Tyler gives in to the thoughts, keeping his eyes closed tightly to block out the orange sunlight that seeps through his lids. _Okay, so I definitely have a crush on my best friend,_ Tyler thinks irritably. _How can I not have a crush? He is just so...so pure._

  Tyler thinks about the way Josh held him during his episode, the way Josh stared into his eyes with this patient, protective look. Tyler thinks about how calm Josh was, and about how selfless he must be to carry Tyler around, even under the scorching sun and the prying eyes of Tyler's neighbors.

  Tyler sighs into his arm, wondering what he should do. Tell Josh how he _may_ feel, or just hold it all in? Would it be worse to keep something like this to himself? The only thing Tyler is sure of, is that he has to tell Jenna—his girlfriend—how he really feels. If he is having second thoughts about Jenna, then surely he doesn't enjoy her company as much as he thought.

  Even though he was previously afraid of losing her as a friend, a bit of thinking leads him to believe she will understand. Besides, she would rather be friends than have a relationship based on false feelings...right?

  “You alright? You're a bit quiet,” Josh worries, and Tyler nearly startles; he was completely lost in thought, honestly.

  “I'm fine, just thinking,” Tyler replies, opening his eyes to look around. The pair are almost back at the house, and Tyler suddenly feels guilty for letting Josh carry him all this way.

  “Want to tell me what's on your mind?” Josh offers, sounding soft and happy. Tyler can hear the smile in his friend's voice, can imagine the way Josh's eyes are probably crinkling up. The thought makes Tyler grin, and he makes an agreeable hum.

  “Well, I've been thinking about what you said earlier,” Tyler starts, playing with zipper on Josh's jacket. “About how I should end things with Jenna if my heart isn't where it should be.”

  “Good to know you are taking my advice,” Josh chuckles. “Does this mean you are going to tell that other guy your feelings?”

  “Uh, I dunno,” Tyler answers softly, sighing. “I am afraid he won't like me in that way. Also, it feels really weird. I know nothing about Homosexuality, and I know nothing about dating boys.”

  “What _do_ you know, then?” Josh asks, brow furrowed as he walks past an old lady who gives them a strange look.

  “I know that...I know,” Tyler trails off helplessly, then sighs. “I know _him…_ and I know I really _like_ him, too.”

  “If you know him so well, do you _know_ he will reject your feelings towards him?” Josh questions, and Tyler blinks in surprise.

  “Of course I don't know that—”

  “Then why sit here and become so gloomy about it? Just tell him how you feel!” Josh advises happily. “What's the worse that could happen?”

  “He could reject me, stop being my friend, and the world could blow up.” Tyler sighs.

  “Key word: _could_ ,” Josh chuckles. “Besides, If he stops being your friend over this, then he clearly isn't worth your time anyways. Also, the world won't explode.”

  “But how do you know,” Tyler demands seriously, and Josh laughs so hard at Tyler's tone, that he has to stop walking to keep from dropping his passenger.

  “Call it intuition, you dork,” Josh giggles, then keeps walking.

  “Don't laugh at me,” Tyler scowls.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Anyways, what is the _best_ case scenario?” Josh asks, and Tyler gets quiet as he thinks.

  “Uh, he likes me too?” Tyler tries, and Josh nods, seemingly satisfied by the answer.

  “What will you do if he likes you back?” God, what would Tyler do if Josh likes him? Does their friendship suddenly end, and then they become boyfriends? Does that mean Tyler would have to kiss Josh in public all the time? Tyler isn't afraid to show platonic affection, but he is still new to the idea of homosexuality, and he isn't sure if he is ready for the world to know just yet.

  “I don't know!” Tyler panics, hysteria creeping into his voice. Josh notices this, and quickly digresses.

  “Baby steps, then. We can talk about this later, or something.” Josh steps up to Tyler's front door and walks inside.

  “Tyler, is that you?” A feminine voice asks, and the boys freeze as three pair of eyes stare at them.

  “Yeah mom, it's me—and my friend Josh!” Tyler calls back. The three people in the living area must be Tyler's siblings, and Josh suddenly feels self conscious.

  “Tyler, who is he?” Tyler's sister asks, squinting at Josh.

  “Uh, my friend. Didn't you hear me tell mom that?” Tyler asks, sounding as anxious as Josh feels. “Josh, these are my siblings, Jay, Zack, and Madison.”

  “I didn't know you had siblings,” Josh murmurs from the side of his mouth. Jay hears this, and begins to laugh.

  “That's because he is _embarrassed_ of us.”

  “Am not!” Tyler snarls crossly, and his brothers begin to laugh. “Let's go, Josh.”

  “Told you!” Jay cackles, looking back down at his phone. Zack, clearly uninterested in the boys, peers over Jay's shoulder to watch what he is doing. Madison still stares suspiciously at Josh, and doesn't take her eyes off of him until the pair vanish into Tyler's room.

  “I don't think your sister likes me too much,” Josh says, dumping Tyler onto the bed. Tyler lets out a bunch of giggles as he squirms around on the covers, burritoing himself in the blankets.

  “Eh, she just doesn't know you. Or any of my friends, I guess.” Tyler shrugs. Josh sets the bag of things on Tyler's desk before kicking off his shoes. There is a knock on the door as Josh unbags the drinks and half-melted frozen yogurts.

  “Come in,” Tyler grants from inside his blankets.

  “Tyler, where are you?” His mom asks when she opens the door, and Josh turns around to see where his friend has gone. Tyler wiggles under the bundle of blankets, managing to pop his eyes from a small hole in the pile of covers.

  “I'm here,” He says, and his mom snorts.

  “Tyler, you goof,” she chuckles. Then, she turns to Josh.

  “Hi there, Josh! I didn't get to formally meet you, since you and Tyler came home _so late—_ ” She sends Tyler a glare, “—but I've heard so much about you! I'm his mother, Kelly,”

  “Salutations,” Josh grins, holding a hand out for her to shake. She beams at him as she takes his hand, and then looks at Tyler.

  “Why, you've brought home such a nice boy,” She praises suggestively. “And why didn't you tell me he was so cute?”

  Are all moms like this?

  “Oh my god,” Tyler groans, wiggling under the blankets to hide from his mom and Josh, and hopefully hide from his embarrassment, too.

  “Ah, thank you,” Josh says awkwardly, and Kelly winks at him as she points to the Lump Of Tyler.

  “Of course, darling. I think you're perfect for my little boy. I can tell you won't break his heart—”

  “Okay mom!” Tyler says loudly, trying to unravel himself from the blankets. “Time to leave me alone!” He falls to the floor with a surprised scream, and Kelly laughs as she bends over to pull a pillow off of his head.

  “I'm just teasing, dear. Are you okay?” She asks, and Tyler huffs.

  “Please go,” He moans in reply, and Kelly laughs again.

  “I'm sorry. I actually came in here to ask if Josh was going to spend the night. If not, I need to know what time to take him home.” Josh's ears prick when he hears his name and he looks away from Tyler.

  “I don't want to impose or anything—”

  “Nonsense. If you want to stay, you can ask your mom what she thinks. At least stay for dinner,” Kelly pleads kindly, and Josh found it hard not to smile back at her.

  “Okay, I'll ask her in a moment.” Kelly nods, pleased, and then backs out of Tyler's room.

  When his mother shuts the door, Tyler begins to wiggle around in his tangle of blankets, trying to unwrap them from his legs. His face is red as his hands tug at the fabric, becoming frustrated when the blankets seem to get more tangled. He crosses his arms with a huff.

  “Need help?” Josh offers, getting down on his knees as his hands wave over Tyler's legs.

  “Please,” Tyler says simply, and Josh begins to unravel the blankets.

  “How did you get so tangled up?” Josh snickers, scooting closer so he could unwrap the bed sheet from around Tyler's waist.

  “I—I don't know,” Tyler stutters, heat creeping up his neck as Josh all but straddles him to get the blankets from around Tyler's chest.

  “You are such a dork,” Josh giggles, shaking his head in disbelief. Tyler involuntarily grabs Josh's arm when his friend leans a bit too close, and their eyes meet. The two stay still, Josh realizing how close he is to his friend, and Tyler too confused and embarrassed to tell Josh to move.

  “Tyler?” Josh asks, his voice soft. ' _This is it. This is where I'm is going to tell my best friend how I feel. Oh, god,_ ' Tyler thinks.

  “Josh, I need to tell you something—”

  “Tyler, mom wants to know if—oh my gosh.” The boys' heads whip around to see Madison in the door way, her mouth open and her hand on the door frame.

  “Madison,” Tyler yelps. His sister's eyes seem to get wider. “It—we aren't—I'm—This isn't what it looks like!” Josh tries to nod in agreement, feeling his heart pound, but he can't move.

  “Really, because it looks like a stranger is trying to screw my brother!” Madison accuses, and Josh and Tyler leap into action. Tyler stumbles once more due to the blankets, so he finally just kicks them off of his legs and push them aside with a panicked shout.

  “Whoa, no, no!” Josh yelps, waving his hands.

  “Madison, no! I was stuck in the sheets and he was trying to help me—”

  “I was just trying to get the blanket from his torso—”

  “Then why did you straddle him like that?” Madison barks, loud enough for the rest of the house to hear. Tyler winces as he shushes her. “Don't shush me! That didn't look like 'sheet unwrapping' to me!”

  “But it _was_ sheet unwrapping!” Josh moans, dragging a hand down his face.

  “No it wasn't,” Madison says stubbornly. Tyler begins to shake, his eyes watering.

  “Okay, say that it _wasn't_. Would you have a problem with my best friend straddling me?” Tyler growls, and Josh stares at him with wide eyes.

  “What?” Madison asks, caught off guard.

  “You heard me,” Tyler snarls.

  “Where did that question come from? Why would you ask that—” Madison stutters, eyes wide and unsure of what to make of her brother.

  “Would you have a problem if I liked boys?”

  “N-no Ty, I just—”

  “Tell mom we aren't eating in the dining room, and that I'm ordering a pizza. You— _you_ can get the _fuck_ out of my room!” Madison gasps, and Josh gapes at his friend. Madison steps back, clasping her hands together.

  “Tyler, wait, tell me—!” Tyler slams the door on his sister's face, abruptly cutting her off. Tyler slumps for a moment, then turns to his friend.

  “Okay, want to watch Supernatural?” Tyler asks sullenly, clearly wanting a distraction from what just happened. Josh shakes his head, looking worried.

  “Will you tell me what that was all about, instead?” Josh inquires, resisting the urge to reach out and smooth away the worry lines in his best friend's face.

  “No,” Tyler says in a steely tone. “I just want to pretend this didn't happen.”

  “I'm sorry, Tyler,” Josh murmurs sympathetically, and his friend pitifully shrugs one shoulder.

  “No reason to be,” Tyler says grimly, bending over to grab his blankets. Josh helps him make the bed, and then Tyler grabs Josh by the wrist. “Sit here while I look for my laptop. You still have to text or call your mom, whether you decide to stay over or not.”

  “Okay, Ty.” While Tyler looks for his laptop, Josh asks his mother if he can stay the night. When he gets an agreeing answer, Tyler simply texts his own mom to inform her Josh is staying the night; he doesn't quite want to meet his family's eyes right now.

  “Wait, tomorrow is Monday. I'll need my clothes and school things,” Josh says, unsure. Tyler shrugs as he plops down next to Josh and boots up his laptop. Even though it is full charge, he plugs the cord into the charging port. The damn thing is old and dies in under five minutes, so he further ruins the device by keeping it on charge well after 100%.

  “If you really want to stay over, you can just ask her to bring your clothes, or we could walk to your place and get them our selves,” Tyler suggests, brow furrowed as he types his password and logs into his Netflix account. Josh goes along with this idea, and when he gets a response form his mom, he grins.

  “She said she will bring my stuff,” Josh says happily, bumping his shoulder against Tyler's.

  “Sick!” Tyler cheers. “I'll tell my mom that she is dropping off your things. I'll also order the pizza.” Tyler does just as he had suggested, and finally starts up the first episode of Supernatural. The two watch the show while sipping the now-melted frozen yogurt straight from the container, both eager to forget about today.

–

  “I don't know, Ty,” Josh says, eyes on the screen. “I have a feeling Sam isn't getting back on Monday...” Tyler snorts, and Josh turns to him with wide eyes.

  “Wait, he really _doesn't_ get back?”

  “I don't know Josh, just watch and see.”

  “ _Tyler!_ ” Josh complains, glaring at his friend. Tyler suddenly grins.

  “'Not for nothing, Cas, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid',” Tyler quotes, and then winks. Josh's face turns dark red and he barks out a confused noise.

  “Excuse me?” Josh squeaks. “What the heckle is a 'Cas'?” Tyler just laughs.

  “'My ' _people_ _skills_ ' are ' _rusty_ '; Pardon me, but I've spent the last ' _year_ ' as a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent'!” Tyler says, making aggressive finger quotes every so often.

  “Ty, please stop, you're confusing me,” Josh whines, finally catching on that Tyler is just quoting the show.

  “'Balls'!” Tyler barks, and Josh throws up his hands.

  “How in the _heck_ could _that_ possibly be a quote?”

  “Keep watching, and you'll find out,” Tyler snorts, tapping the play button to resume the show. Josh stares at his friend rather than the screen, bewildered that this amazing dork is his best friend. Tyler glances at Josh, then does a double-take.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Tyler snorts, feeling small under Josh's admiring gaze.

  “I just can't believe I know the coolest person in the whole world,” Josh comments, scooting closer to Tyler. “I mean, how many times have you watched this show?” Tyler flushes, but looks pleased as he curls against Josh's side. Josh moves the laptop onto his thighs so Tyler can lie on his side. By the third episode, Tyler managed to inch closer and closer to Josh, and then making it look as if he is just stretching, Tyler puts his head on Josh's chest.

  Tyler's heart is a rapid tattoo in his chest, wondering if Josh would push him off, or feel awkward. To his delight, it is just the opposite—Josh wraps his free arm around Tyler's waist, settling his hand on Tyler's hips. Completely content, Tyler smiles bashfully at the screen as they finish the episode.

  “Tyler?” Zack voices from behind the door, and Tyler's moment of bliss dissipates. He pauses the during the intro of the fourth episode, frowning.

  “What?” Tyler complains. Zack peeks shyly into the room, pushing the door open an inch or two to get a good look at the boys on the bed. His eyes take in Tyler curled against Josh, the stranger's fingers drumming thoughtlessly against his brother's hip. Zack looks down, feeling as if he is intruding on an intimate moment, especially after what Madison had told him and Jay.

  “Your...uh, _friend's_ mom is in the drive way, and mom got a call saying the pizza will be free because they are going to be a few minutes late due to traffic.” Zack explains, looking up from the floor to meet his brother's eyes.

  “Oh, sick!” Tyler says enthusiastically. However, his expression falls when Josh lets him go to sit up and move the laptop.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Tyler frowns, watching as Josh crosses the room to put on his shoes.

  “Greeting my mom,” Josh laughs, rolling his eyes. “What are _you_ doing?”

  “Following,” Tyler replies, scrambling to adjust his clothes and hair. He slips on some shoes and begins to open his door more. Pushing his brother a bit so they could walk past, Tyler leads Josh down the hall and to the front door. Tyler completely ignores Madison when she tries to catch his attention, and Josh gives her an apologetic look as he shuffles outside.

  Josh sees his mom's car in the drive, her head lights on and vehicle rumbling. When he gets to the passenger door, he sees his mom and dad in the front seats, both dressed in jackets. When his mother rolls down the passenger window, he feels a hot gust of air come from the vents, the heat quickly reminding him that he should have grabbed his jacket before coming outside.

  Josh introduces Tyler to his parents, chats for a moment, and then takes the back pack and black draw-string bag of clothes that his mom offers to him. He is only able to get away from his mother's idle chit chat when he reminds her that it's cold outside, so he says his good byes and backs away as they pull out of the drive. Before he and Tyler could even get into the house, The pizza man shows up with an apology, a coupon, and a free pizza.

  Tyler continues to ignore his sister when they walk back to his bedroom to eat.

–

  “I need a shower,” Tyler says after the tenth episode of Supernatural. He and Josh had binged the episodes, and maybe they had been cuddling, maybe not. If you ask them yourself, they would both give you a different answer.

  “Me too,” Josh sighs, pausing the episode before it could continue to the next one.

  “Do you want to go first?”

  “Do _you_?”

  “Rock paper scissors?”

  “Yep.”

  Tyler is taking the first shower.

  Tyler convinces Josh to stay in his room and watch Supernatural to keep himself busy, before stalking down the hall to the bathroom. Tyler begins his routine of folding his clean pajamas onto the sink, and tossing his dirty ones into the hamper next to the door. He lays a towel on the ground next to the tub—for lack of a drying mat—and impatiently taps his foot as he waits for the water to warm up. When it is to his liking, he steps over the wall of the tub and closes the frosted glass doors.

**~~~*~~~**

  Tyler washes his hair and body, and then just stands under the spray of the water, thinking of nothing in particular as he washes himself. Well, he _was_ thinking of nothing, until he rubs a sudsy hand across the inside of his thigh. He lets out a small annoyed huff when a warm sensation bubbles below his navel.

  “You've got to be kidding me,” Tyler murmurs to himself, spitting out the water that got into his mouth. “No way, not today, not ever.” His body replies by letting him know he is a bit aroused. Tyler ignores the feeling, even though the water hitting his more sensitive parts just make the curious sensation spread from his navel to his chest, and down between his legs.

  Tyler is like most teenage boys; he gets curious when a certain part of his body feels nice to the touch. However, he usually just feels wrong and embarrassed when he masturbates, even if it is a natural thing to do—even if it feels particularly good when he climaxes. He just doesn't like masturbating that often.

  What he dislikes even more, though, is the feeling of unresolved arousal. So, toughing it up and momentarily becoming a bit excited at the prospect of what he is about to do, Tyler makes the water a bit warmer and closes his eyes. He slides a slow, testing finger over his member, clicking his jaw when his erection becomes interested. With a soft breath, Tyler delicately wraps his fingers around the head of his dick, smoothing his thumb in deliberate circles over the tip.

  Tyler bites the inside of his cheek as he drags his hand slowly down to the base, and then quickly flicking his wrist back up. He tries to come up with an interesting fantasy, but he surprisingly lacks creativity in this department, since he has never experienced anything close to sex other than his shy hand under his bed sheets, and in the shower.

  So, Tyler just goes with the most simple fantasy his sexually unimaginative mind could come up with.

_A warm body presses close to Tyler's, soft lips mouthing pretty kisses into the crook of the boy's neck as a hand slides between them, down Tyler's chest and to the base of his erection. The pretty hand teases Tyler's_ _member, before the pretty fingers wrap around him. The hand pumps his dick in a slow and steady rhythm._

_The hot mouth—presumably a woman's—sucks marks of territory across Tyler's flesh, and for each bite made, it is replaced by soft kisses before moving onto a new one. Kisses are lavished as such all down Tyler's chest, and the hand that once pleased him is replaced by the woman's mouth. Her pale lips are teasing, and her dark, almond shaped eyes are full of mischief as her tongue lazily laps his head. Tyler bites his knuckles to keep his moan quiet, his other hand reaching forward to grab the woman's hair as she begins to bob her head._

  “ _Please,” Tyler whispers around his fingers, and the person pulls away to gently laugh. However, the laugh wasn't feminine like Tyler had expected, and Tyler quickly realizes it was Josh's laugh._

  Tyler isn't sure what to think as he realizes that it was never a woman in his fantasy, but his best friend. The worst part—to him, at least—is that he was becoming even more excited at the very idea of Josh sitting on his knees, pleasuring Tyler. So even though Tyler knew it was wrong , he couldn't help but to continue his fantasy to relieve the heat from between his thighs. Tyler leans a hand against the shower's glass doors to steady himself, and closes his eyes once more.

  “ _Does it feel good, Tyler?” Josh whispers, and Tyler holds back a strangled sound in response. Chest heaving and legs twitching, Tyler watches as Josh leans forward to blow him once again. Now, Josh is teasing, licking, and touching Tyler with more purpose than before, and Tyler is nothing but a wiggling mess as his hands slide along the slick shower walls. Tyler lets out a gasp as the warm sensation between his legs begins to ache, a strange pressure like water behind a dam replacing the feeling. Tyler clenches his teeth, knowing he is going to climax soon, and yet Josh still has his mouth around Tyler, seemingly unworried that the boy is going to orgasm right in his mouth. Now, his tongue is rolling against the head every time he pulls back, and Tyler feels the dam burst._

  It took all of Tyler's will power to not shout his best friend's name when he orgasms. He is actually leaving indents on his fingers from biting them so hard, softly moaning around them as his hand moves in tandem to make his release really count. Finally, member twitching and wrist aching, Tyler drops his hands with a huff. His orgasm creates a warm feeling that swells up even in his chest, and even though it was a similar fluttering Tyler got when he has anxiety, he couldn't compare such a wonderfully warm sensation to something so bad. For once, Tyler didn't feel embarrassed or angry, just spent.

**~~~*~~~**

  Tyler lets the water wash away any evidence of what sins he may have performed, then washes his body once more. By the time he turns off the water, steps onto his temporary drying-mat, and gets a towel around his waist, Tyler's elated feeling dissipates and he is left with nothing but guilt and confusion.

  Tyler just had a _sexual fantasy_ about his best friend, for heaven's sake! Tiny crush or not, that has to be at least 50 shades of morally wrong, right? Tyler shakes dripping water from his hair as he dries off, concerned. It began as a normal, uncreative fantasy that started off with a woman, right? When in the _hell_ did the woman turn into Josh? Tyler freezes as he remembers the fantasy, and remembers when he realized his best friend was pleasuring him. Remembering the fantasy and briefly wondering how it would feel if it were real, Tyler feels a tingling between his legs once more.

  “Oh my god,” Tyler hisses irritably, frantically grabbing his clothes.

  Tyler is scowling by the time he dresses in fresh clothes and has his hair dried, guilt completely souring his previous activities. When he wipes up any remaining water with the towel he had laid on the floor, he checks the shower to make sure every inch is immaculate before getting new towels for Josh; he even lays one on the floor next to the shower, so Josh doesn't have to worry about getting water every where. See, Tyler could be a great friend.

  Except for the fact that, you know, great friends don't have sexual fantasies involving their friend.

  “Your turn,” Tyler says when he gets back to his room, and Josh presses pause on the episode he was watching.

  “You took forever in there,” Josh comments, and Tyler tries to ignore the heat that surges to his cheeks.

  “Eh, I just stand there and think of new song ideas,” Tyler responds flatly, realizing the response is as uncreative as his fantasies.

  “Sick,” Josh laughs. “You'll tell me what you thought about when I get out, right?” Tyler nearly chokes on his failed composer, before nodding.

   “S-sure, if I like what I write down,” Tyler lies, wishing Josh would just go already. “You can use my shampoo and stuff, if you want. I have them sitting on the sink for you, and I put out some towels. Uh, you know where the bathroom is?”

  “Yeah, thanks Ty,” Josh says, standing up and clasping Tyler's shoulder—the same shoulder he had imagined a trail of hickies being sucked onto. Tyler lets out a nervous laugh, and though Josh gave him a strange look, his friend leaves him be and heads towards the bathroom.

  When he hears the water running, Tyler falls onto his bed with a relieved sigh. Then, almost as quickly as he had relaxed, he tenses up when his phone chimes.

 

* * *

 

**7:15 pm**

_user_ **Bren_Done** _has added you to a new chat!_

  


**Bren_Done** _is typing…_

  


**Bren_Done:** hey I just wanted to check on you

 **Bren_Done:** well, everyone wants to check on you

 **Bren_Done:** but they wanted to wait, in case you didn't want to be bothered.

 **Bren_Done:** i'm an impatient asshole and had to make sure you were feeling better.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I'm so fricking glad you messaged, because I need your help

 **Tyler Joseph:** also, I'm feeling great!

 **Tyler Joseph:** except for the fact that I'm a guilty, creepy person.

  


**Bren_Done:** um

 **Bren_Done:** okay.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I've got to tell you a secret, and I need a bit of advice.

  


**Bren_Done:** you can tell me secrets that I'll probably repeat~

  


**Tyler Joseph:** well don't, wtf

 **Tyler Joseph:** awesome, im glad we cleared that up.

 **Tyler Joseph:** So, I'm probably a homosexual.

  


**Bren_Done:** it's about time you owned up to it

  


**Tyler Joseph:** what?

 **Tyler Joseph:** eff you.

  


**Bren_Done:** gasp!

 **Bren_Done:** that was -almost- a bad word!

 **Bren_Done:** I'm so offended!

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Be serious! I really do need your help!

  


**Bren_Done:** okay okay, whats wrong

  


**Tyler Joseph** _is typing…_

  


**Tyler Joseph:** okay, so I may or may not have been having

 **Tyler Joseph:** uh

 **Tyler Joseph:** alone time

 **Tyler Joseph:** and uh…

 **Tyler Joseph:** Never mind, I feel awkward now.

  


**Bren_Done:** “Alone Time”

 **Bren_Done:** masturbation?

 **Bren_Done:** okay, continue

  


**Tyler Joseph** _is typing…_

  


**Tyler Joseph:** oh god

 **Tyler Joseph:** okay, I'm just gonna say it.

 **Tyler Joseph:** no beating around the bush

  


**Bren_Done:** thats not all that got beat lol

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I'M SERIOUSLY FREAKING OUT, OKAY?

 **Tyler Joseph:** STOP MAKING THIS WORSE THAN IT HAS TO BE!

  


**Bren_Done:** christ, alright.

 **Bren_Done:** Just continue already, damn.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** As I was saying—I was having alone time. What started as a normal fantasy with a girl

 **Tyler Joseph:** ended as a surprising fantasy with a guy.

  


**Bren_Done:** that sounds gay. You're definitely a homosexual, Ty.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** but I hardly know the guy!

  


**Bren_Done:** OH, this got interesting!!!

 **Bren_Done:** you had a fantasy about a stranger?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** a friend, actually.

  


**Bren_Done:** this is amazing

  


**Tyler Joseph:** no, this is weird!

 **Tyler Joseph:** is this normal?

 **Tyler Joseph:** to get off to someone you know

 **Tyler Joseph:** like, without them knowing?

  


**Bren_Done:** ya

 **Bren_Done:** I have had a fantasy or two about Dallon, now

 **Bren_Done:** he's hot lol

  


**Tyler Joseph:** ew, I didn't want to hear about your sex life.

  


**Bren_Done:** ???

 **Bren_Done:** wtf is so different about us talking about YOURS, rather than mine?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Well, you are in a relationship.

 **Tyler Joseph:** It feels wrong to hear anything about your bf that involves sex.

  


**Bren_Done:** yeah?

 **Bren_Done:** well, you're a crazy friend-stalker and a creep

 **Bren_Done:** what's your point?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Dammit, Brendon!

  


**Bren_Done:** oooo, that one was an -actual- bad word!

 **Bren_Done:** so hard core<3

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Look, I just don't know what to do or how to feel, okay?

 **Tyler Joseph:** this is weird for me.

  


**Bren_Done:** it's weird for me too, but I'll play nice and give you some advice.

 **Bren_Done:** (that rhymes omg)

 **Bren_Done:** okay. So are you attracted physically to fantasy boy?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** if that wasn't already obvious!

 **Tyler Joseph:** but yes

  


**Bren_Done:** do you enjyo his company?

 **Bren_Done:** *enjoy

  


**Tyler Joseph:** of course

  


**Bren_Done** _is typing…_

  


**Bren_Done:** then ask the guy to hang out tomorrow

 **Bren_Done:** play some video games or do something that friends would normally do

 **Bren_Done:** then test the waters with him. Ask his views on dating other guys

 **Bren_Done:** subtly drop hints about how you feel, and look for signs that he may feel the same

 **Bren_Done:** and if you are confident enough in your findings at the end of the “hang out”

 **Bren_Done:** tell him how you feel.

 **Bren_Done:** does that make sense?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** actually, it really does.

 **Tyler Joseph:** thank you, I really appreciate the help

 **Tyler Joseph:** I'll ask him in a few minutes.

 

* * *

 

** Tyler—7:28 PM **

  Tyler's phone pings with notifications from the other group chat, but he ignores it as he waits impatiently for Josh to get out of the shower. Soon, he hears the water shut off, and Tyler scrambles to delete his messages, just in case. Then, the bathroom door closes, feet pad quietly down the hall, and Josh timidly pushes open the bedroom door and slips inside, wearing only sweat pants and holding his day clothes in his hands.

  Tyler tries not to stare as Josh walks across the room, water dripping from his dark hair and dribbling down his strangely gorgeous back. _What, how in the hell is a back 'gorgeous'?_ Tyler thinks irritably, looking away from Josh's pretty skin. Damn him.

  “Jeez, I have like, a million notifications because of that group chat,” Josh complains, bringing his phone with him to the bed. Tyler huffs as a drop of water falls on his crossed leg.

  “Don't you know how to dry off properly?” Tyler complains, squinting at his friend.

  “I _am_ dried off, though,” Josh replies, looking confused. Tyler shakes his head slowly, unable to handle how stupidly precious his friend is.

  “Okay, Jish,” Tyler agrees, rolling is phone between his palms. “Do you want to come over tomorrow and play video games? There's this cool game called _Happy Wheels_ that I think you'll like.”

  “Sure,” Josh says happily. Tyler gets even more notifications, and opens the chat with intentions on muting it.

 

* * *

**7:40 PM**

  


**ThnksPt:** so is everyone down?

  


**Joshua Dun:** for what? Sorry, didn't see the messages.

  


**Patrick Stump:** it's alright. We are all going to hang out at the park again, tomorrow after school.

  


**Joshua Dun:** ah, no can do.

 **Joshua Dun:** Tyler just invited me to play video games tomorrow.

 **Joshua Dun:** but I'll go next time.

  


**Bren_Done:** SON-OF-A-FUCKING-BITCH

 **Bren_Done:** tYLER, I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS JOSH HOLY SHIT

  


**Tyler Joseph:** shut the fuck up!

  


**Bren_Done:** I CAN”T EVEN

  


**ThnksPt:** I'm so lost

  


**Patrick Stump:**????

  


**Joshua Dun:** what the frick is going on

  


**Mikey Way:** are we ignoring that Tyler said “fuck” or…?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** wow it's getting late.

 **Tyler Joseph:** time to go to bed or some other lame excuse like that

  


**Patrick Stump:** but it's only seven?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** * insertbelievable excuse here *

 **Tyler Joseph:** see ya, fellas!

  


_User_ **Tyler Joseph** _has muted the chat. They will receive messages when active again._

 

* * *

 

**Tyler—7:45 PM**

  Tyler places his phone on his nightstand and falls back against his pillow, closing his eyes in relief. Josh stares down at his friend, following in suit by muting the chat and putting away his phone, as well.

  “Is there something I need to know?” Josh finally asks, and Tyler's peaceful expression contorts as he winces.

  “Not yet, but I promise to tell you soon,” Tyler sighs, peeping an eye open at his best friend. Josh raises a brow, but says nothing more. Taking his silence as acceptance, Tyler gets up to turn off the light, stumbles back to the bed, and wiggles under the covers. Then, he grabs his laptop to continue the episode Josh had been on. The pair resume the same position they had been in earlier: Tyler curled against Josh, with Josh's hand on Tyler's hip.

  By the end of the first season, the two had deemed it late enough to go to sleep. Tyler shuts off his computer, folds it, and leans over to place it under his bed. When he sits back up, he can see Josh's silhouette lifting up the blanket, arms open wide.

  “What?” Tyler asks, and Josh chuckles.

  “I just figure that after watching such a... _scary_ show, you would need something to keep the nightmares at bay. There fore, I'm offering my protection.” Josh explains, and Tyler's heart leaps into his throat. Neither of them believed the show was scary enough for nightmares, but Josh had provided the perfect excuse to sleep curled against each other, so Tyler went with it.

  Tyler moves close to Josh, and instead of timidly resting his hand at his side like he had been, Tyler actually throws his arm across Josh's chest. With his leg pulled up so he is nearly straddling his friend, Tyler finally relaxes. Josh, however, is absolutely frozen.

  “Do you need me to move?” Tyler asks sleepily, exhaustion already filling his words.

  “No...No, you're fine where you are,” Josh admits, wrapping his arm around Tyler, hand on Tyler's hip. This time, however, he is rubbing tight circles into the waist band of Tyler's pants. Tyler hums before gently pinching Josh's arm.

  “Don't move your hand like that,” Tyler commands, voice thick. Josh pauses his movements, staring into the dark bedroom.

  “Why?”

  “Because I _like_ it.” Tyler suggests, and Josh's eyes get wide.

  “S-sorry,” Josh stutters, placing his hand flat against Tyler's waist, instead. Tyler smooths his hand across Josh's bare chest, catching a droplet of water or two as he does so.

  “S'okay,” Tyler yawns, eyes heavy even though they are already closed. “Good night.”

  “'Night,” Josh replies, absently rubbing circles once more. He doesn't mean to, he's doing it without much thought. Much like when someone taps their foot to a song they've never heard, or clicking their pen when reading something they wrote. For some reason, his absent-minded tic just _has_ to be doing something Tyler told him not to do.

  “You don't listen very well,” Tyler murmurs with a lilt, snickering. Josh bites his lip when he realizes what he is doing, stilling his hand once more.

  “I'm doing it thoughtlessly. I'm sorry, do you want me to let you go?” Josh compromises, already moving his arm off of Tyler.

  “No, it's fine,” Tyler allows, grabbing Josh's hand and moving hit back to his hip. “You can keep doing it, I don't mind.” Does Tyler even realize what he is saying right now? Tyler must think he's a pretty bold guy for telling Josh to keep rubbing his hip, or confusing fantasy with reality.

  “Ah, okay,” Josh whispers, and then puts a firm grip on Tyler's hip. His friend shivers, and Josh's face became so hot he thinks he is going to explode.

  “Maybe not that tight, fren. I want to fall asleep, not become aroused,” Tyler snorts, and Josh loosens his grip, unable to believe what he just heard his friend say.

  “I'm...turning you on,” Josh says out loud, gaping at the ceiling. _Grabbing Tyler's hips is a turn on for him. I've got to save that for later,_ Josh thinks, and then mentally chastises himself for thinking that there will be a 'later'.

  “Conversation for tomorrow, bud,” Tyler sighs, releasing Josh to pull the blanket higher on his shoulder. He hugs Josh once more, feeling content.

  “Tyler, you can't just say something like that, and expect me to wait until tomorrow—”

  “Yes I can. I just did, didn't I?”

  “ _Tyler_ , come on!” Josh protests, and Tyler pinches him again.

  “You heard me. I'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm exhausted as frick right now.” Tyler urges sternly, and that is the end of the conversation, for now.

  “Okay,” Josh sighs softly. “Goodnight, Tyler. Sleep well.”

  “You too, J. Good night.”

  Soon after, the pair fall into a content sleep, one that distinctly lacks nightmares, due to Josh's hugs.

 

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //I still have no idea wtf i'm doing.  
> First thing to address: Every Panic/anxiety attack is different. However, I have modeled Tyler's panic attack after one of the worst ones I have had. I have been diagnosed with severe social anxiety, and I'll be honest when I say that's one of the reasons this chapter is later than it should be.  
> Second:I...I have never written smut for other people to read...ever. I've written random stuff for myself, just to practice, so I admit I am very nervous about this. I want to try and keep the "Mature" rating, rather than an "Explicit" one. What do I mean by that? I mean I probably won't get any more descriptive than the fantasy scene(If you read it)--If I even write any more chapters like this. Please tell me if you want me to write more chapters like this, or if you want them to be more descriptive. I mean, there wont be sexual content every chapter, but I want to know if you guys think I should imply it or actually write it out.  
> Third: On a lighter note, you know the scene where Mikey gets hit with the car door? Lol, that was a REAL scene that happened between my younger sister(with some variations, of course). It pretty much went as written: She wanted to sit up front, I took the seat before she could, she hit me with a door, mom told her she could just walk home(It really was a harmless threat to make her behave), then she dropped her glasses and hit herself in the face. I had a good time tbh, because I'm heartless lol  
> Fourth: (numberssss) I....I have a serious problem. I am MORE than obsessed with Supernatural, tbh. Anyone else? No? Only me? I should stop making references? Too bad.  
> 5ive: I have realized that I write WAY too much Dialogue, and not enough...story. I am honestly trying to get better at that, because it's annoying. I was reading back the first three drafts of this chapter, and I started to hate it. (As I hate the other chapters, too, because I read each of them over six times or so.)  
> sixx: These chapters are getting progressively longer, and I'd say that by chapter six, I will have to split it in half because I'd have taken up too many characters (I'm Joking...I hope).  
> Ten: What am I even doing, I'm so sorry, its like too-late-o'clock right now.  
> -  
> Questions, comments, concerns-or just want to chat? Refer to my email!  
> homicideandWritingprompts@gmail.com  
> also, my personal email:  
> homicideandglitter@gmail.com  
> Or even in the comments below~  
> -  
> Like what you read?  
> Kudos, bookmark, or subscribe if you haven't already!  
> -  
> Hit up my Instagram, because I make dumb fan art and misc. art projects! (They aren't very good lmao)  
> @homicideandglitter_art  
> DM me and tell me hello, I love making friends! :D  
> -  
> If you read this far, comment "I'm here" below what you already have to say! (Just to let me know if I'm wasting my time with these notes, or not.) Thank you!  
> Stay amazing, my perfect purple bumblebees!!


	4. "okay" is a relative term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU EVER FELT ALONE  
> IF YOU EVER FELT REJECTED  
> IF YOU EVER FELT CONFUSED  
> IF YOU EVER FELT LOST  
> IF YOU EVER FELT ANXIOUS  
> IF YOU EVER FELT WRONG  
> IF YOU EVER FELT WRONGED  
> IF YOU EVER FELT UNCLEAN  
> IF YOU EVER FELT ANGRY  
> IF YOU EVER FELT ASHAMED  
> IF YOU EVER FELT CURIOUS  
> IF YOU EVER FELT USED  
> BE PREPARED TO FEEL REVENGE  
> FEEL THE ROMANCE  
> MY BRUTAL ROMANCE  
> MY MISERABLE ROMANCE  
> MY X-RATED ROMANCE  
> MY HARLEQUIN ROMANCE  
> MY INNOCENT ROMANCE  
> MY WATERCOOLER ROMANCE  
> MY CHILDISH ROMANCE  
> MY SCANDALOUS ROMANCE  
> MY SELFISH ROMANCE  
> MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER: PLEASE TREAD CAREFULLY, AND STAY SAFE!***  
> -MILD SWEARS: all throughout the chapter  
> -VIOLENCE: in the middle of the section titled "Pete Wentz-7:00AM-same day, school cafeteria"  
> -HOMOPHOBIC SLUR AND A DEATH THREAT: in the middle of a section titled "Frank-chemistry classroom-2nd period"  
> \- LIGHT TALK ABOUT RELIGIOUS/SEXUALITY STRUGGLES: "Tyler-12:20-lunch, cafeteria"  
> \---  
> //Okay, please don't skip what I'm about to say! I really want to apologize for the awful editing of this chapter. You see, I type the drafts into a document app on my computer, and transfer it to AO3 when I'm finished. I paste it into rich text, but because of weird differences, I have to manually place page breaks and paragraph indentions...however, I had sort of rushed to get this chapter finished (I promised one of you that this chapter would be up by today), and it is so late where I live right now....  
> needless to say, I'm only adding page breaks, rather than sitting here for thirty minutes to add indentions. I'm sorry, please, please forgive me.

**Ch.4**

  


**Josh Dun—6:15 AM—Monday, September 5 th**

The shrill screams of Tyler's alarm clock startles Josh awake. With a shrill scream of his own, Josh flails under the covers before rolling off of the bed and onto the floor.

“Josh?” Tyler yelps, squirming to the edge of the mattress. Josh lies in a heap on the floor, tangled up in bedsheets and swearing violently. “Josh, be quiet or my mom will hear you!”

“Is this how I'm going to wake up every _fucking_ time I come to your house?” Josh barks in a whisper, trying to find the end of the blanket so he could get out of it. “On the goddamn _floor_?”

The alarm still goes off, and Josh tries to take a swipe at it, only to face plant the floor as the blankets yank him back. He swears even more out of irritation.

“Josh, calm down and I'll help you!” Tyler whines, but before he could get down on the floor, his bedroom door is thrust open and the lights flicked on.

“What's going on?” Madison asks from the door, taking in the situation. Tyler groans and drags a hand down his face.

“Get out of my room before you start accusing me of screwing my best friend!”

“Tyler, it wasn't like that!” Madison snaps crossly, folding her arms.

“Then how was it like—?”

“Will you two shut the hell up and help me!” Josh barks, and Tyler's face flushes when his friend swears.

“Josh, you're sitting on the blanket, that's why you can't get up—”

“Hit snooze on that damn alarm!” Josh snarls back as the alarm continues it's beeping.

“Tyler, he said the 'D' word!” Madison gasps, ogling at the Josh pile.

“If you don't get out of here, I will _eat_ you! I will stick your hand in my mouth and tear a chunk out of it!” Tyler threatens, slamming his fist on the clock; he isn't sure if he is talking to the alarm clock or his sister.

It's about to be an eventful morning for the Joseph household.

* * *

  


**Pete Wentz—7:** **0** **0 AM—same day, School Cafeteria**

Pete, like Friday morning, sits at the usual breakfast table as he always does. He waits on his friends to arrive, just like any other morning, ignoring his food as he scans the breakfast line. Bobbing from side to side, Pete grins at everyone who passes, being the nice guy per usual.

After about five minutes of _agonizing_ loneliness(which is spent saying hello to people who acknowledges him), Pete sees Patrick, who is clearly in a better mood than he was on Friday. He holds an apple in one hand, and a carton of milk in the other. When Pete moves his bag for Patrick to take a seat, his friend actually takes it; Pete beams at Patrick.

“Good morning!” Pete cheers, and Patrick smiles as he picks the sticker off of his apple.

“Good morning, Pete,” Patrick replies with a lilt, and Pete nods in satisfaction.

“How was your night?”

“Oh, you know,” Patrick begins sarcastically, “Filled with flirtatious messages from my best friend.” Pete stills in his seat, face becoming hot.

“Flirtatious? No way. I wasn't flirting—” Pete defends uselessly, and Patrick intervenes with an abrupt laugh.

“Pete, I know you were flirting. Besides, forgetting that I took French is offensive,” Patrick chuckles, side glancing at his friend. “Also, _Je pense que vous_ _ê_ _tes attrayant, aussi bien._ ”

Pete giggles nervously as Brendon drops into the seat across from him, looking confused as to why the boys haven't yet noticed his presence.

“Stop looking at each other so intimately, it's embarrassing,” Brendon declares, and Pete jumps.

“Brendon, good morning!” Pete says too loudly, and Brendon rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, Pete.” Brendon opens his container of generic fruity cereal, pours milk into it, and begins to eat, pretending to be butthurt about Pete not greeting him sooner.

“That wasn't very nice,” Pete complains, sinking down in his seat and sending pitiful glances at Patrick, who just sighs lightly; He is surrounded by five year olds.

Breakfast went on quietly after that, what with Brendon being stubborn and Pete pouting. So, happy for a bit of peace for once, Patrick cheerfully eats his apple while sending amused looks at his friends. Well, it _was_ peaceful, until Josh and Tyler bustled to the table, both of them wearing varying expressions of pain.

“Good morning Tyler, Good morning Josh!” Pete says merrily, perking up at the prospect of more people eating at his breakfast table. Tyler smiles when he sits down, repeating another generic, morning greeting, while Josh just bangs his head on the table.

“Josh? You okay there?” Brendon asks, leaning around Tyler to get a look at the boy. Josh lifts his head and glares at Brendon, and then believing that action was enough to tell his story, he put his head back down.

“I sense that there was more to that glare than you're letting on,” Patrick chuckles. Brendon sits back and eyes his friend warily, while Tyler snickers.

“I think Josh is mad at me,” Tyler explains, wiggling his finger at his best friend. Josh lets out a huff and sits up, narrowing his eyes.

“Tyler knocked me onto the bedroom floor, _again._ This better not be a normal routine, or I'll shove a drum stick through his ears.” Josh would like to think he is a very non-violent person, and would also lead himself to believe he is an _awesome_ friend. However, he believes his threats are totally justified, considering he has a bruise on his ass, now.

“Wait, you stayed with Tyler last night?” Brendon asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Tyler chokes on his orange juice, and even though he is still annoyed, Josh pats his friend on the back to keep him from drowning.

“Yes, I did. So what?” Josh challenges, and though his voice clearly tells Brendon not to push it, Brendon does anyways.

“Did you _sleep in the same bed?”_

Josh sighs, already seeing where this is going. “Yes, Brendon. Ty and I shared a bed.”

“I ship it so much,” Brendon laughs, and Tyler just starts a coughing fit once more, hiding words like “shut up” and “I'll kill you” between his coughs. Josh's face steadily becomes an amusing shade of red as he shakes his head.

“Let's talk about something else,” Josh grumbles, just as Frank, Gerard, and Mikey make their way to the table. The three boys squish in where they could, each one grinning.

“I have something to say,” Frank says mischievously. He leans forward, finger splayed on the table as he wears a grin and a cocked eyebrow.

“Frank, don't tell them the story, too,” Mikey complains, his face turning a slight pink. Gerard just laughs and encourages Frank.

“Okay, so,” Frank begins in a whisper, and everyone leans towards him with interest. “Gerard and Mikey were showing me to the Chemistry classroom on the second floor, so we could meet their friend Ray. When we get in there, the Ray-Kid has this terrified expression.”

“Yeah?” Brendon prompts, and Mikey groans, hiding in the crook of his elbow.

“Ray tells us to open up the door, right?” Frank asks. Everyone nods vaguely or shrugs, so he continues. “We open up the door, and there are these _disgusting_ noses coming from the supply closet within the classroom.”

“What were they?” Tyler interrupts, looking as though he didn't want to know. Frank grins.

“The Chemistry Professor kept saying—” Frank tilts his head and begins to moan. “' _Helena, Helena, fuck, yes—'”_

“Frank!” Mikey hisses, eyes wide as students begin to turn to their table. Frank doesn't care about Mikey's 'innocent' ears, though, and continues.

“ _'Oh, Helena, for a woman who teaches Bible History, you sure have a way with—ah~'_ So then, after a _disgusting_ orgasm-y moan, Ms. Helena walked out of the closet, followed by Mr. Brightside, or whatever his name is.” Frank's face, his moans, and full out confidence while repeating this story had the table over flowing with childish giggles.

“I can't believe I had to hear that,” Tyler groans, sliding a hand down his face.

“Oh, Tyler, don't pretend you know nothing about blow jobs,” Brendon snorts. Tyler's eyes narrow when everyone's laughter die down a bit, and the boy knows they all heard what Brendon said.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, you little—”

“Tyler, not today,” Josh orders, reaching a hand under the table to pinch Tyler's hip. Tyler's mouth goes dry, and whatever he had to say died on his lips.

“Okay,” He replies weakly, batting away Josh's hand. Brendon saw the whole exchange, and grinned as he took a sip from his milk carton. Everyone else had elected to ignore the three, and instead focused on whatever else Frank had to tell them.

“You got a good fake-moan on you, Frankie,” Gerard says, and Frank looks at him with a smug grin.

“Yeah? You should hear the real thing.” _Fucking god, did I really just say that?_ Frank asks himself, but he doesn't show his surprise at his own flirtatious response, and instead just tries to make his grin broader. Gerard chuckles, shaking his head.

“Can't wait for the day when I can,” Gerard says back, and there are groans and several complaints of 'Get a room!' and 'Disgusting!' from their friends. Gerard rolls his eyes. “However, I say that because There is this song me and the guys are writing, with this little...let's just say ' _ah's_ in it, and it takes two people to sing them.”

“Wait, you want me to moan for your song?” Frank inquires in surprise, despite how strange of an offer that is. Gerard nods.

“Yeah. We were gonna have Ray or Mikey do it but...Well, Ray flat out denied me, and it would be weird if My brother and I started moaning together.” As Gerard explains this, Frank can't help but to feel extremely flattered.

“Fuck, I guess I can't say no to that,” Frank jokes nervously, grinning. “What's the song called, and when should we meet up for it?” Gerard laughs fondly, bumping his shoulder to Frank's.

“The song is called Destroya, or something like that—we haven't decided yet. We are having a band meet this afternoon after school.” Gerard watches as Frank takes out his phone to shoot a text to his mom. When he unlocks his screen—Gerard with his head on Frank's shoulder and watching—Gerard grabs Frank's hand to stop him from opening the texting app.

“What's that,” Gerard asks excitedly, pointing to the home screen background. Frank lets out a nervous chuckle as he opens up his gallery to find the picture.

“It's me and a few friends of mine...I used to, uh, kind of be in a band,” Frank answers nervously, holding out his phone to Gerard. Before Gerard could say any more, Mikey grabs the phone. Then, the phone is passed to Patrick, Pete, Brendon, Tyler, Josh, and Finally back to Frank—the whole table seemingly curious to learn there is another musical prodigy at the table. Frank huffs as he wipes a bit of milk off of his screen—Looking at you, _Brendon—_ and exits the gallery.

“Tell me about the band, what do you do?” Gerard prods, looking excited.

“Well, I sang for them, because our original song writer had difficulties coming up with new ideas,” Frank explains.

“If you sang, then why are you holding a guitar in the picture?” Gerard asks intensely, and Frank anxiously wonders why he is being grilled about this.

“Well, I didn't play guitar for them, but I _do_ know how to play,” Frank offers, and Gerard nods, looking pleased with the answer. His eyes narrow a bit.

“Do you still play with them?” Gerard asks, easing himself into Frank's personal space.

“Well, I haven't for awhile,” Frank splutters, “A few of the members had...religious duties, I guess. They didn't want to be apart of the band anymore.” At this, Gerard looks really excited.

“Would you like to be in our band, then?” Gerard inquires. At this, Mikey elbows him.

“Hey, not that I don't like Frank or anything,” Mikey gripes, “but he still has to audition. And we have to talk to ray since we, you know, _already have a guitarist.”_ Gerard scoffs.

“Plenty of bands have more than one guitarist, and I don't have a doubt in my mind that Frank can ace an audition,” Gerard turns to Frank with a smirk. “Right, Frankie?”

“Yeah, s-sure,” Frank huffs, looking pointedly at his phone when Gerard refuses to relent his heated gaze.

“See Mikey? It's all cleared up. We can walk to Frank's and get his guitar, and then we can practice tonight!” Gerard seemed really pleased with himself as he leans against Frank, clearly adamant in his decision. Frank just hastily texts his mom his plans, hoping she will agree to it.

“It's all good and well that you guys have a band,” Pete says in a low voice, glaring at someone across the room. Everyone turns to him, surprised at his angry tone. “But we have other problems we will need to address.”

“What?” Brendon asks, moving to follow Pete's gaze.

“I don't suggest you turn around, Bren,” Pete advises, still glaring. Brendon does anyways—hell, the whole table looks across the room—and his heart plummets. Stalking across the room in Dark Denim skinny jeans, a white button up shirt, and a brown vest, Ryan Ross walks with his nose high in the air, looking like he owned the place. He makes his way to the table as Brendon quickly whips around in his seat, hunching over his unfinished cereal.

“Great, just what I needed,” Brendon murmurs, curling his shoulders over as Ryan makes it to the table. Though Josh and Tyler have never met him before, they quickly look down at the table to ignore him, much like the rest of their friends.

“Hey, guys,” Ryan tries, letting his notebook sit on his cocked hip as he grins around at the table; no one meets his eye, and he huffs. “What, no one gonna greet me?”

Ryan receives only silence. Irritated, the boy wraps an arm around Brendon and leans over him, grinning. “Hey Brendon, you never called me back,” Ryan accuses, and even though he has a smile, there his something threatening about his tone.

“I had a b-busy weekend,” Brendon murmurs, stiff as a board and refuses to look at his ex. Ryan's eye twitches, but he holds his pleased expression.

“Busy being a slut?” Ryan asks cheekily, and Brendon's heart falls as he slumps a bit under Ryan's weight.

“No, I'm not a whore—”

“I said slut, darling,” Ryan corrects, kissing Brendon on the cheek. Tyler stands up, having enough.

“Hey, why don't you frick off, you creep,” Tyler suggests bitterly, his chest puffing up. Josh grabs Tyler's wrist, fearful of the look Ryan was giving his best friend.

“How about you butt out of this, twit,” Ryan snaps back. “This conversation doesn't concern you.”

“It does when you wrongly insult one of my friends,” Tyler growls, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Ty, please,” Josh whispers, the only one intervening as the rest of the table watch this exchange with alarm. Ryan grins as he straightens up, leaving a hand to squeeze Brendon's shoulder. He stands to his full height, about an inch taller than Tyler. Despite the height difference, Tyler kept his defiant gaze on Ryan, scowling.

“Yeah, _T_ _y. Please,_ ” Ryan mocks, poking a finger into Tyler's chest with every word. “This is a conversation between Brendon and me, and has nothing to do with you.”

“Keep touching me, you fricker. See what happens,” Tyler says venomously, and Ryan laughs.

“Fricker? God, how old are you, ten?” Ryan snorts, poking Tyler's chest even harder. “What are you going to do about it.” Tyler relaxes, giving Ryan a smile and a shrug.

“Nothing, I guess,” Tyler says amicably, looking as though they were talking about the weather. He turns and grabs his orange juice, taking a sip from it. “I mean, there isn't much I _can_ do.”

“That's right,” Satisfied, Ryan stops poking Tyler so he can go back to Brendon. “So, where was I, slut?”

“Bad move,” Tyler hums, clucking his tongue in disappointment. Then, with a small sigh, he raises the juice carton and tips the contents onto Ryan's head. The juice _clugs_ out of the pinched opening of the carton, drenching Ryan's hair, dripping off his eyelashes, and soaking his front. A bit of juice splashes onto Brendon, but the boy clearly didn't care; he looked amazed.

Ryan lets out a choked gasp as he straightens up once more, wiping off his face the best he can while spluttering juice out of his mouth.

“Oh my _god_!” Frank cackles first, and then the rest of the boys are cracking up as Tyler carefully closes his empty juice carton and sets it on the table. Ryan flicks his hands angrily, practically seething as he shakes his hair like a wet dog.

“That's what you get for being a thirsty piece of crap,” Tyler sasses innocently. “I hope I helped.”

“You—you!” Ryan gasps. The next thing Tyler knew, he was on the ground with Ryan on top of him, the boy's fists flying into his face. “You piece of shit!”

“Hey!” Josh yells, standing and kicking Ryan hard in the gut. Ryan grunts and fumbles off Tyler. Before either of them could get up, Josh is stepping over Tyler to grab Ryan by his vest. He hoists the boy up with a surprising amount of ease, and begins to push him back. Ryan scrambles backwards, holding onto Josh's wrist as he is bulldozed back into the wall next to their table.

Remember how Josh considers himself as a very non-violent person? He also finds loopholes in his morals; especially if his friends are being threatened. That being said, Josh has absolutely no problem with jerking Ryan to his chest, and then slamming him back against the wall as hard as he could.

“Don't you ever call Brendon a slut again,” Josh snarls, punctuating his words by slamming a fist into Ryan's stomach. “And for your own sake, don't fucking _touch_ my Tyler again, do you fucking hear me?” Josh punches Ryan in the face, busting the boy's nose. Students begin to stand up and wander over, creating a barrier so teachers couldn't see what is going on.

Josh isn't sure how many times he hits Ryan in the stomach, and he isn't sure how many times he kicked the kid in the chest when the boy crumples to the ground. All he knows is that he is _pissed,_ and Josh has never, ever been so livid in his entire life. Pete and Frank are trying to pull Josh away from Ryan, and the others at their table are quickly trying to clean up their table so they can leave and get away before the teachers come to investigate.

Tyler is tended to by Mikey, who had dragged him out into the hallway so he could wash off the boy's bloody face at the water fountain. Soon, Frank manages to push Josh hard enough to get him off of Ryan. The group of boys shove past the barrier of students, who laugh and cheer and pat Josh on the back, even though they aren't sure what Ryan had done to deserve such a beating.

When out in the hallway, Tyler's face is mostly blood free, and Mikey has the boy's arm over his shoulder. The group push down the hallways, sneaking past teachers so they could get to the second floor, where there should be an unused classroom they can hide in until the bell rings(which will be very soon). Once inside, the boys all relax and sit under the now-locked door.

“Josh, what the fuck, man?” Pete groans, slumping over when all the excitement had died down.

“I have no idea,” Josh replies, looking at his bruised fist as though mesmerized that it belonged to him. “I don't know what came over me. All I know is that he was hurting Tyler—” Josh cuts himself off to inspect his friend.

“I'm fine,” Tyler grumps when he meets Josh's gaze. Tyler sports a nasty shiner, and his lip was busted twice, but he seemed fine otherwise.

“You two are fucking crazy!” Brendon laughs, trying to conceal his laughter behind his hand and failing. “ _You_ just poured juice on my ex, and _you—_ ” Brendon points at Josh, “You fucking _waylaid_ his ass. Holy shit.”

“He deserved it,” Pete murmurs, sending a worried look to his friend. “He had no right to say those things about you, and despite getting soaked in juice, he had no right to beat Tyler, either.”

“Do you think Josh killed him?” Frank asks, seeing the guilty expression Brendon now held, and redirecting the conversation. Josh grunts and shakes his head.

“I didn't kill the little fricker.” Josh gives Frank an insulted look, and then becomes even more offended when the teen openly laughs at him.

“'Fricker'? I heard you say fuck, what happened to that bad-boy vibe you were just oozing?”

“First of all, I'm not a bad-boy, or what-have-you. Second, I only swear when I'm really angry,” Josh clarifies, relaxing as Tyler leans against him. “I told you that.”

“No you didn't,” Frank says, brow furrowing. “When did you tell me that?”

“In the group chat,” Josh snorts, and Frank helplessly turns his gaze to Gerard.

“What group chat?”

“Oh, we haven't added you and Gee, yet,” Mikey speaks, pulling out his phone to add the two.

“Oh wait, don't add me!” Gerard yelps, but it was too late; his phone chimes in his pocket, baring the notification that he has been added to the chat. “Oh, fuck me,” He gripes.

“Gladly,” Frank mutters under his breath, and Gerard turns red, pretending to not hear him.

“Okay, so what now?” Patrick asks quietly as the bell rings. None of the boys get up.

“We all skip first. Who gives a fuck about class after what just happened?” Brendon scoffs, and Patrick begins to shake his head.

“No, no way, Brendon. We have to go to class! We have—”

“Just stay here Patrick, this morning has been too tiring,” Pete persuades, and Patrick slumps over, looking defeated.

“Will we get caught?” Tyler asks worriedly, glancing at the door.

“Nah, I come up here and smoke weed all the time,” Frank admits, closing his eyes and waving a dismissive hand. He feels several pairs of eyes on him, so he opens his own. “What? If you fuckers don't have a problem with the drugs you took at the party, than you have no right to have a problem with pot.”

“Hey, no one said anything,” Brendon says, holding his hands up in defense. Pete leans across Patrick to peer at Frank.

“Who's your dealer?” Pete asks, and Frank grins.

“Looking for some bud, huh?” Frank prompts, and Pete nods.

“Like _hell_ he is!” Patrick barks, elbowing Pete in the ribs. “You are an absolute _moron_ when high, so there's no way in hell I'm letting you waste your money on marijuana.”

“What, why?” Pete complains, sitting back. Patrick gives him a lengthy monologue about how Pete needs to save up his money for whatever reason, and that his family would kill him if they found out, yada, yada, yada. He is interrupted, however, by several phones chiming or vibrating at once.

 

* * *

 

**8:00 AM**

_users_ _ **Gerard**_ _ **Way**_ _and_ _ **xofrnk**_ _have been added to the chat!_

–

**8:07 AM**

  


**Dallon Weekes:** yo, what the hell happened to Ross?

 **Dallon Weeks:** I saw him bloody, wet, and seething in the hallway

 **Dallon Weekes:** funny thing is, I couldn't find any of you guys.

 **Dallon Weekes:** strange. -_-

  


_user **Tyler Joseph** has unmuted the chat!_

  


**Bren_Done:** Josh is a badass and now we are hiding from teachers

  


**Dallon Weekes:** What did you do!

  


**Joshua Dun:** He started it by punching Tyler in the face!

  


**Dallon Weekes:** WHAT? Why did he hit Ty? Are you alright Tyler??

  


**Tyler Joseph:** 'alright' is a relative term, tbh.

  


_User **Mikey Way** has unmuted the chat!_

  


**Mikey Way:** Tyler poured juice all over Ryan's head

 **Mikey Way:** it was really cool, actually lmao

  


**ThnksPt:** yeah, it was really sick

  


**Patrick Stump:** Tyler is really sassy too, fyi.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** this is all well and good, but why the hell did Tyler pour juice on Ryan?

 **Dallon Weekes:** i'm just trying to understand what's going on.

  


**xofrnk:** Well, since everyone else seems to be too big of a pussy to tell you, I'll do it myself.

 **xofrnk:** Ryan grabbed Brendon and started calling him names and kissing his cheek, even though Brendon clearly wanted him to go away.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** what the fuck did Ryan call Brendon

  


**Bren_Done:** hey, it's all over now

 **Bren_Done:** none of this matters anymore

  


**Dallon Weekes:** tell me what the little fucker said, right now

  


**Bren_Done:** Dallon, please, it's nothing new, really. He use to say it all the time

  


**ThnksPt:** HE WHAT

 **ThnksPt:** WHY DID HE SAY THAT TO YOU BRENDON

 **ThnksPt:** AND WHY DID YOU NEVER TELL ME?

  


**Dallon Weekes:** What did he say!

  


**ThnksPt:** he called Brendon a fucking Slut!

  


**Patrick Stump:** Dallon, where did you go?

  


**Mikey Way:** he stopped reading messages five minutes ago

  


**Bren_Done:** we shouldn't have told him, god dammit

* * *

  


One by one, the group put up their phones and wait patiently for news on Dallon, none of them speaking. At one point, they all have to duck behind some desks pushed against the wall, because they heard a walkie-talkie go off—presumably the Vice Principal's. The intercom crackles throughout the school as the secretary prepares an announcement.

“Dallon Weekes, The principal is looking for you—Dallon Weekes.” The intercom crackles once more, before it is shut off. The boys gape at the speaker in the corner of the room.

“Did—did she just ask for Dallon?” Brendon asks, though it was an unnecessary question, since he had heard her just fine.

“She didn't sound happy, either,” Patrick comments in a small voice.

“They are looking for him,” Gerard says, and his friends stare at him.

“Thank you for that, Captain Obvious,” Frank mutters, and Gerard sticks his tongue out at him.

“No, I mean they must have been looking for awhile, because she sounded angry. We also know that Dallon is pissed about Ryan and went missing,” Gerard trails off, hoping his dear, moronic friends would get the gist of what he is saying.

They didn't.

“You idiots, Dallon probably went to go fight Ryan and got caught! He probably turned tail and ran.” Gerard makes a huffing noise when realization dawns in his friend's eyes.

“Oh my god, that idiot,” Brendon yelps, pulling out his phone. He presumably dials Dallon's number, and presses his phone to his ear. The phone rings several times, and just as he is sure voicemail will pick up rather than Dallon, he hears a quiet click on the other line.

“Brendon?” Dallon whispers, and Brendon lets out a relieved laugh.

“Fuck, I'm glad you aren't dead or something,” Brendon chuckles. “Where are you? What did you do?”

“I may or may not have pushed Ryan down and stomped on his nose... _broke_ his nose...he's kind of unconscious right now.”

“I'm—what. You did what?” Brendon deadpans, not sure if he heard right. He holds his hand on Pete's face when his friend reaches for the phone, leaning away so he could hear Dallon.

“I said I broke his nose and he is unconscious. He was already in pretty bad shape, but he's even worse, now. I'm hiding in a broom closet on the second floor.” Dallon, informs, and Brendon sits on his knees and scrambles to the door, to peer out of the tiny window.

“The one down the hall from the unused classroom? We are in here now, come to us!”

“I don't know, Brendon…I think people are looking for me.”

“I'm looking out the window, and I don't see anyone,” Brendon hisses into the phone, leaning against the door to see at every angle he could. “I'll crack the door open so you can slide in, but I suggest you run now!” Brendon unlocks the door, and opens it as he had promised. Down the hall, he hears the sound of the broom closet door being opened as well, then a quiet shuffling of feet. Soon, Dallon is pushing past Brendon to squeeze through the door. He scrambles over Tyler and Josh, before lying flat on his stomach and sighing.

“I'm so fucked,” Dallon groans, hanging up his phone and stuffing it into his pocket. Brendon puts his own away and locks the door once more.

“Did you get caught?” Patrick asks, and Dallon shakes his head.

“No, I heard from an inside source that after I stomped Ryan's face in—hey, don't look at me like that! I only stepped on him once!—he apparently stumbled to the office, said my name, and fell over. My friend told me to run, so I did.”

“Who told you this?” Brendon asks in bewilderment, and Dallon sighs.

“Kenneth Harris. He works in the office, and sent me a text.” Dallon looks over at his friends, before closing his eyes and relaxing into the cool floor. “Speaking of texts, I suggest you delete every message from the group chat regarding this. Including what Josh and Tyler had done. I doubt Ryan will squeak on Josh, considering the beating he received, but just in case the school cop wants to check out your messages...”

At that, everyone sets to deleting their messages from this morning. The only evidence they can't hide are Josh's knuckles and Tyler's bruised face, but they figure they will get by with it. If all else fails, they can just say that they bumped into the car door, like Mikey had done yesterday.

“Maybe you should sneak out or something. Go home and pretend you are sick, that way the school can't say shit about you being here. Did your attendance get taken?” Mikey asks, leaning back on his elbows.

“Nah. I was late for school this morning, and walked in the cafeteria doors like I usually do. I was on my way to sign in to the office when I got your text, then saw Ryan. I knew I fucked up when he started stumbling away, so I started making my way to the second floor before Kenneth even text me.”

The boys sit in silence after hearing another walkie-talkie go off down the hall.

When the five minute bell rang, Dallon managed to sneak out of the school while his friends made their way to their lockers down stairs. Dallon's mother never even knew he left the house this morning, as she had went to work early—she believed him when he called and said he woke up late and is ill.

This most certainly won't be the last act of violence today.

* * *

 

**Frank—chemistry classroom—2 nd period**

  


“Frank, you don't have chemistry,” Ray accuses, watching wearily as the boy sits down at his lab table next to Gerard. Frank shrugs before grinning obnoxiously.

“Who says?” Frank asks, and Ray sends a weary look to Gerard. Gerard just minutely shakes his head, communicating with his eyes that he already tried convincing Frank to go to his regular class.

The tardy bell rings, and the plump chemistry professor rushes into the room, looking harried as he puffs to the front of the room. He doesn't even glance at his 'new student', much to Frank's displeasure. A few students snicker and natter away while the teacher scribbles down today's lesson plan; some students begin to throw pencils at each other from across the room.

“Seriously, Frank, why are you in here?” Ray whispers, leaning over the black table top while sending a glance at the professor. Frank busies himself by pulling out some paper and crayons. As he searches in his bag, he shrugs one shoulder.

“I didn't bring a change of gym clothes today, and there is no way in fuck I was going to run around in skinny jeans and a tie,” Frank huffs, not bothering to keep his voice low. When he finds the crayon that was loosely rolling around in his backpack, he glances up to find that Gerard had stole his notebook and was doodling in it.

“So instead of sitting in the bleachers, you follow Gerard to class?” Ray asks, looking a bit sarcastic as he reaches over to grab a yellow crayon. With his crayons and paper being stolen, he has nothing to do except watch Ray and Gerard.

“Yep,” Frank answers uninterestedly. At this time, the teacher had finished writing instructions on the white board, and turns to address the class. Over the chatter and incessant pencil-flicking, he attempts to call attention.

“Today we are going to start a lab. I have written the materials needed for this lab on the board, and I would like for one person from each group to get your supplies,” students begin standing up and wandering to the corner of the room, where they grab rubber aprons and sets of keys. “I must remind you to not eat or drink while in here, and to follow all lab safety rules!”

Frank makes an amused noise as he gets up—since the two who are a _ctually_ in this class can't be bothered—to get aprons and keys for himself, Gerard, and Ray. When he brings the items back, Gerard helps him with the apron while Ray unlocks the counters under their lab table. Ray produces goggles, a few beakers, and strips of coloured paper Frank doesn't have a name for. Then, Ray walks into the supply closet—rather reluctantly, after remembering the activities that had taken place there—and comes back with vinegar, baking soda, and a bottle of water.

“This is boring,” Frank grumbles, watching as Ray mixes a teaspoon of baking soda with the water.

“This is Chemistry, Frank,” Ray reminds him. “If you didn't want to do the work, you shouldn't have skipped class.” Frank lets out a little huffing noises as he bends over to grab his bag. Shuffling around in it for maybe the sixth time, he pulls out his carton of orange juice from breakfast with a mischievous smile.

“Frank, what are you doing?” Gerard chirps, glaring suspiciously as Frank grabs an empty beaker.

“Doing an experiment of my own,” Frank replies cheekily, and Ray looks up with horror to watch as Frank pours his juice into the beaker and begins to drink from it.

“Frank, no!” Ray yelps, reaching forward. “What kind of fucking experiment is that!”

“Just trying to see if the teacher will notice,” Frank shrugs, batting away Ray's hand. He leans back and stares at the teacher, taking slow sips until he is noticed. The teacher finally looks up, and is promptly horrified by what he saw.

“Oh my God!” The professor gasps, lunging out of his chair and making his way between tables to get to Frank.

“Oh, now you've done it!” Ray hisses, looking embarrassed as the teacher hurries over.

“Young man, you don't need to be drinking chemicals! We must get you to the emergency room right away! What chemicals were mixed there?” Frank drains the rest of the orange juice, Gerard is laughing, and Ray slowly shakes his head while the teacher makes grabby hands at the beaker. Sweat dots the man's forehead as he stutters something about not actually getting a teaching degree, and that he has no idea what to do when a student drinks chemicals during a lab.

“Chill, chill, it's just orange juice!” Frank tries, but the man just babbles even more, albeit a bit angry this time.

“—orange juice? Why, I oughta—” The man's face begins to turn a dark shade of red. “Young man, you don't play tricks on people, and you definitely don't drink from a beaker! There could be remaining chemicals in that—”

“And you shouldn't get blown in a supply closet! Your junk could have gotten contaminated!” Frank admonishes in a serious voice, and Ray gasps. The teacher stares as Frank, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say to the little shit. Then, deciding it wasn't worth it, he turns around and walks right out of the room.

“He—he—walked!” Gerard gasps between laughter. “He walked out—out of the room! You made a _teacher_ walk out of the room! Ha!” Students were snickering to themselves, abandoning their projects to chatter about what Frank had said.

“Frank, why? Why would you bring it up?” Ray groans, looking embarrassed as he pours his experiment into the waste bin and cleans up his mess, realizing he has no reason to continue if the teacher isn't even in the room.

“I dunno, I just wanted to see if he'd get mad,” Frank answers honestly, and Gerard is still laughing for some reason.

“What if he had suspended you?” Comes the question, and Frank looks over his shoulder to see Josh walking to the table, looking faintly amused.

“Whoa, man, you have this class too?” Frank asks, giving Josh a hi-five when he sits next to Ray.

“'Too'? What do you mean, ' _too_ '? As far as I'm concerned, you don't actually have this class on your times table!” Josh snorts, setting down his notebooks and whipping out his phone.

“Ah, you caught me,” Frank shrugs, looking pretty pleased with himself as he says, “besides, I came in here just to give the teacher a tough time.”

“You said it was because you don't have proper gym attire!” Ray yelps, and Frank just smiles.

“Did I? Hmm.”

“Unbelievable.”

The rest of the class goes by teacher-free. Some students—the goody-two-shoes, as Frank calls them—decide to clean and put away all the equipment; other students talk and throw wads of paper at the periodic table hung beside the white board. Ray soon calms down and seems to enjoy the stories that Frank tells him, and accepts the fact that Gerard wants Frank to join the band. Josh had long since gone quiet, tapping furiously at his phone rather than join in on the conversation, like he had originally planned to do.

“Man, Ray,” Frank says, and Ray glances over at him with a grin. “I dare you to go over to that pretty girl, and violently take a bite out of that crayon.”

“What the fuck, why would I do that?” Ray laughs, shaking his head. Frank cracks up at the prospect of it, leaning across the table to stick one of his crayons into Ray's hand.

“Because it's funny, and I like fucking with people,” Frank giggles. Ray grips the yellow crayon, still shaking his head.

“If you like fucking with people so much, then why don't _you_ do it?” Ray complains, but he is already hopping off of his stool.

“Because everyone already knows _I'm_ crazy.” Frank says this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You're a moron,” Ray grumbles with a smile, walking over to a group of girls. Gerard and Frank lean in their seats with anticipation, and even Josh looks away from his phone to see if Ray would actually do it.

“Does he realize the bell is about—” Josh starts, but before he could finish the sentence, the bell rings. Looking frantic, Ray gets into the girl's face and licks the crayon, before chomping down on it. The girl lets out a disgusted shriek—something along the lines of “Ew, what the fuck?”—which causes Frank to laugh so hard he literally falls off of his stool and onto his backpack. Students scramble through the door in clumps, some laughing about the teacher, others laughing at Ray and the poor girl who was subjected to the crayon biting.

“I have no idea why I am friends with you,” Ray huffs, using his tongue to suck yellow wax off of his teeth. Frank chortles as he shoves his things in his bag, choosing not to answer. Due to his lack of organization, he has finished putting his things away before anyone else, so he walks out of the room with a promise to meet them at the lockers. Frank takes a trip to the bathroom, and then to a vending machine to buy himself a bottle of water before making his way to the lockers.

A rather familiar looking boy sees Frank, and makes a bee line towards him. Unsure of what is going on, Frank tries to sidestep the taller teenager, but the boy is aiming to run into Frank; and so he does. Frank lets out an angry yelp as he is grabbed and pushed into the ground , his bag spilling open and his water getting kicked from his hands.

“Watch where you're going, you fucking freak,” The boy laughs, and Frank stares up at him with wide eyes, rubbing his wrist uncertainly. Sure, Frank can fight for his friends, but when he is confronted with danger himself, he has no idea what to do. Frank clears his throat and sits up, only to be nudged back down. “Hey, I didn't say you could get up yet, ya pussy.”

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” Frank barks, trying once more to sit up—only to be pushed back down, harder this time.

“Look, it's nothing _personal_ ,” The boy says, getting down on one knee so he could look Frank in the eye. Students wander past them, not sparing a second glance to the strange exchange on the floor. “You see, you made an ass out of my friend on Friday—you remember him? Tall, blond, green eyed bloke? You punched him right into my lap?” The boy laughs when recognition dawns on Frank's face, and then soon anger.

“So what? Your friend deserved it for being a dick!” Frank hisses, and the boy rolls his dark eyes.

“Believe me, I _know_ he's a dick,” The boy agrees. “However, I'm here to inform you that he is planning on exacting revenge for the stunt Way pulled, and you'll be next if you don't butt out.”

“He's going to hurt Mikey?” Frank gasps, sitting up and grabbing the boy's shirt collar. “If you fucking touch Mikey—”

“Don't touch me, _faggot_ ,” The boy barks, shoving Frank back to the ground. He dusts off his hands with a huff, before shaking his head. “You don't want to get in Caine's way, trust me. And if we find out that you told Way,” The boy's voice lowers to a whisper. “We'll fucking _kill_ you.”

The boy walks away with a grin, while Frank is left to stare at him with wild eyes. Surely the teen was kidding, right? About the 'killing' part? He wouldn't actually kill Frank, he was just trying to scare him. However, that's what a lot of teenagers think when they get threatened—that it's all some joke—until the kid brings in a fucking gun and shoots up the school. Frank shakes his head as he searches for his water bottle and shoves his books into his back pack.

Frank could either tell Gerard and protect Mikey from Dumb Ass—Caine?—or he could believe the threat and get murdered on his way home. Well, the obvious choice is that Frank is going to tell Gerard, but that doesn't mean Frank isn't scared. He has dealt with his share of bullies for _years_ , and he knows when he is being threatened earnestly. As much as Frank would like to sit down and put up the tough guy act, he can't pretend that he can take on Caine, and that one boy—or however many friends Caine has—at once.

Nettled with uncertainty and shame, Frank trudges around the corner with his head down, to keep people from seeing the annoying tears that are welling in his eyes. After finally getting back to the lockers, he sees Gerard and Ray chatting as they grab their books, and Frank feels almost relieved that they are still there, so he can try to get their help.

“You like D&D, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria, Harry Houdini, and croquet,” Ray is saying, and Frank walks faster as he makes his way to Gerard, feeling overwhelmed. “You can't swim, you can't dance, and you don't know karate! Face it, you-you're never gonna make it!”

Gerard ponders this as he zips his backpack and hoists it on his shoulders. Frank is now swerving around people, his heart slamming in his chest and his eyes still stinging. “I don't wanna make it, I just wanna—!” Frank interrupts Gerard by flinging himself into his arms, dropping his bag onto the floor. His arms are locked around Gerard's neck, the water bottle still clenched in his left hand, and his head buried in Gerard's shoulder.

“Frank?” Ray yelps, putting his hand on Frank's back as Gerard moves to wrap his arms around the smaller boy.

“Frankie, what's going on, are you— _are you crying?_ ” Gerard asks, looking over Frank's shoulder to stare at Ray with wide eyes.

“No,” Frank mumbles stubbornly, sniffling. He doesn't pull away though, feeling slightly protected in Gerard's embrace—granted, Gerard had no choice but to embrace Frank, but it still counts. Still, Frank has to tell Gerard about Mikey, and possibly tell him about the serious-sounding threat he received as well.

“Yes you are,” Gerard accuses lightly, rubbing Frank's back. “Tell me what's going on.”

“Do you remember what happened to Mikey on Friday?” Frank huffs, feeling stupid for crying. Gerard nods, so Frank continues. “Well Caine—I'm assuming that's the guy who pushed him around—is wanting to 'exact revenge' on your brother, or whatever.”

Anger flares in Gerard's gut, but he keeps control of his temper as he soothes Frank. “We can deal with that when the time comes, Frankie. Is that why you are crying—because of Mikey?”

“I'm not crying,” Frank complains, and he wasn't. The tears never fell, so therefore it doesn't count. “I'm upset because Caine's friend told me that if I give Mikey a heads up, they are going to kill me.” Gerard pulls Frank away with shock, looking at the shorter boy's face with intensity.

“Frank, this is very serious,” Gerard says lowly, and Frank wishes he could make himself shrink. “Did he actually say he was going to kill you? Death threats cannot be taken lightly, and he can get in serious trouble for saying that.”

“I—he did, but it's fine—”

“It's not fine, Frank,” Ray interrupts sternly, clasping a hand on Frank's shoulder.

“No, honest, it's okay if they say that to me!” Frank tries with a quivering voice. The bell rings and a few straggling students make their way to class; the three boys don't make a move. “People say it to me all the time! We only need to worry about Mikey!”

“Frank!” Gerard chastises, and Frank looks at his sneakers. “You're kidding, right?”

“No,” Frank mumbles, refusing to make eye contact. “People have said it to me before, but they were never serious...this guy sounded honest, though.”

“Son of a—”

“Hey! You three, get to class!” A teacher barks from the end of the hall, and the three boys scatter, promises to talk about this as soon as they can.

* * *

 

**12:09 PM**

  


**Gerard Way:** Hey, I need you guys to get on now

 **Gerard Way:** we have a big fucking problem

  


**Mikey Way:** if this is about Caine, Frank already told me.

 **Mikey Way:** We skipped third so we wouldn't have to see him

  


**Gerard Way:** good to know you're in the loop, but this is about Frank

  


**ThnksPt:** what's going on? Is he okay?

  


**xofrnk:** I'm okay! trust me

  


**Gerard Way:** liar.

  


**xofrnk:** fine

 **xofrnk:** I'm not okay

 **xofrnk:** does it make you feel better to hear that, Gerard?

  


**Bren_Done:** someone is salty today

  


**xofrnk:** I reserve the right to be salty, considering I got a death threat today

 **xofrnk:** call me the ocean because I'm 50% water, 50% salty-ass-bitch

  


**Bren_Done:** are you trying to be funny? It isn't funny

 **Bren_Done:** if you tell the principal you got a death threat today, the guy could get expelled

 **Bren_Done:** that is some serious shit right there, man

  


**xofrnk:** will you guys quit babying me? I'm telling you the truth, I mean this

 **xofrnk:** I'm. o. fucking. kay.

  


**Gerard Way:** You were crying though

  


**Tyler Joseph:** aw bless the tiny baby

 **Tyler Joseph:** i'll protect you, frank

  


**xofrnk:** you got the ever living shit beat out of you, Tyler

 **xofrnk:** I'd rather use your boyfriend as a bodyguard k thx

  


_user_ **Tyler Joseph** _has muted the chat. They will receive messages when they are active again._

  


**Patrick Stump:** I think you made him angry

  


**Gerard Way** _is typing..._

**Gerard Way:** what the fuck, who cares

 **Gerard Way:** we have a huge problem right now

 **Gerard Way:** we have a huge problem, and none of you are online at the same time!

 **Gerard Way:** no one threatens my brother and boyfriend!

 **Gerard Way:** I'll stab the fuckers, I swear I will

  


**xofrnk:** uh

  


**Joshua Dun:** ignoring the fact that you and frank are apparently dating

 **Joshua Dun:** you are kind of right

 **Joshua Dun:** We should go to the office now, and save the trouble of getting into a fight later.

  


**Xofrnk:** can we just worry about Mikey rn?

  


**Mikey Way:** no you might die

  


**xofrnk:** I will not! It's probably not that serious

  


**Gerard Way** _is typing…_

**Gerard Way:** you listen to me right now, Frank Iero

 **Gerard Way:** why is it that you want my help until your other friends are involved?

 **Gerard Way:** This is a death threat

 **Gerard Way:** even if the guy was kidding, he still implied he would bully you—not to mention Mikey

 **Gerard Way:** so during lunch, you are going to march your happy ass with me to the office

 **Gerard Way:** and we are going to get that pussy-son of a bitch expelled.

  


_User_ **xofrnk** _has muted the chat. They will receive messages when active again._

  


**ThnksPt:** maybe you were too forward?

  


**Gerard Way:** fuck me.

 

* * *

  


**Frank—12:15—second floor bathroom**

Frank tosses his phone into his bag with a scowl, looking irritated. Mikey glances up from his own phone, looking a bit unsure. Both boys sit in the corner furthest from the door, their school books scattered around them. Mikey leans against the wall, his shoes bumping against Frank's, and his phone charger plugged into the wall.

“You realize we all care about you—”

“Yeah,” Frank gripes bitterly, pulling his knees to his chest.

“And that you need to report the death threat, whether Oliver was serious or—”

“I know!” Frank groans, hiding his face in his knees, taking deep breaths. He _knows,_ okay? Frank knows that this is a very serious ordeal, and that his friends are just trying to help. The only reason why he told Gerard about the threat is because he wanted support and maybe to be walked home. He didn't expect Gerard to gather a mob so they could beat the shit out of this guy. Frank looks up at Mikey with overwhelmed eyes.

“The guy who threatened me...his name is Oliver?” Frank asks conversationally, and Mikey gives him an encouraging smile.

“Yeah. Oliver James.” Mikey thumps his head against the wall, his eyes on the ceiling. “Oliver and Caine weren't so bad in middle school, you know. They were good kids.”

“What changed?” Frank sighs, easing himself onto his back. He folds his hands and stares at the ceiling, too, counting at least six cobwebs and a piece of green bubblegum.

“I don't know. Caine was the first to transform into a monster. I think Oliver just deals with him because he has, like, a crush on him or something.” Mikey shrugs, grinning. Frank rolls his eyes.

“I don't know, he was pretty adamant about calling me a 'faggot', or whatever.” Mikey frowns at that, playing with the cord of his white phone charger.

“I swear he's bisexual; he came out in seventh grade...unless he lied, or something.” Mikey hums, squinting.

“You don't just lie about your sexuality, man. Unless you are trying to convince everyone you're straight, so you are in a safe place.” Frank counters, but he looks unsure.

“Have you ever had to do that, Frank?”

“Lie about my sexuality?”

“Yeah.”

Frank stays quiet for a moment, wondering if he ever tried telling someone he was heterosexual. As far as he knows, he hasn't. Then again, he never exactly broadcast the idea that he could be anything in the LGBTQ+ community. Him liking Gerard since freshman year was never kept a secret—except from Gerard, maybe—and even before then, his mother would always say “look at that cute boy, Frankie” when he was younger. Even his mother just assumed he was gay, and he went with it.

“I don't think I have, but I never really told the truth, either.” Frank says, shrugging. Mikey scoots further up the wall, before crossing his legs.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I never told anyone I was straight, but I never said I was into guys, either,” Frank wiggles uncomfortably on the floor, picking at the knot in his tie. “I was never into anyone, really, until Gerard came along. Which is a bummer, because I don't know how to date anyone, much less guys.”

“Are you like...bisexual or something?” Mikey inquires, and Frank shakes his head.

“I don't really like girls, but I still think they are...aesthetically pleasing? Uhg, man, I really don't know, this just sounds weird.” Frank sounds frustrated, so he sits up. “Let's talk about something else. Sexuality and dating topics give me a headache.” Mikey gives him an uncertain look before nodding slowly.

“So does this mean you'll get a headache if I ask you about Gerard?” Mikey asks, and Frank groans internally.

“What do you want to know?” Frank sighs, rubbing his face.

“He said you were his boyfriend. Is that true?” Mikey shoots, bouncing in place.

“What?” Frank flushes, grimacing. “I don't know. I never asked him, and he never asked me.” Mikey deflates at this, pouting.

“Does that mean you are going to reject his claim?”

“...no.”

“Ha, I knew it!” Mikey shouts. “You _do_ like my brother!”

“Shut the fuck up before we get caught!” Frank hisses, sitting up and crawling over his friend, to place a hand on Mikey's mouth.

“I'm offended. Do you have a thing for Mikey?” Frank and Mikey look over to see Gerard with his brow raised, holding open the bathroom door. Frank looks down to see that he is all but straddling Mikey, their faces close and Frank's hand over the other boy's mouth. Frank snorts and rolls off of Mikey, shaking his head.

“I'd say 'this is not what it looks like', but that depends on what you think is happening here.” Frank hums, standing up and dusting off his pants. “But don't worry, your brother is not my type.” Mikey lets out an offended squawk, and Gerard chuckles.

“I know Frankie, I heard the conversation before you jumped my brother's bones.” Frank flushes and Mikey begins to make even more offended noises, along with a series of gagging.

“Good to know,” Frank grumps. “What are you doing in here?”

“I've come to look for you...I told the principal what happened.” Gerard admits, and Frank sways where he stands, eyes wide with hurt.

“Gerard—I—I—why?” Frank yelps, stumbling over his words. “I told you I could—”

“Frankie, please,” Gerard sighs. “Just be happy I told the principal to let me find you. I was worried that if they called your name over announcements, those guys would know you tipped someone off.”

“Gerard, I said I could handle it,” Frank pouts, shoulders shrugging.

“Stop pretending to be tough, and get your ass in the hallway,” Gerard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't care if you are angry or offended, I just care that you are safe, okay?”

“Okay.” Frank practically wilts as he grabs his bags and helps Mikey off the floor. Then, Gerard wraps an arm around Frank's waist—more to keep him from running off, rather than for affection—and leads the way to the Principal's office on the second floor.

* * *

  


**Tyler—12:30—lunch, cafeteria**

Tyler lies his head on the table, sitting next to Pete. Pete chats amicably with Patrick and Brendon, and even tries to include Tyler, but the boy just feels a bit weird sitting alone with them. One part of him just wishes Josh was sitting next to him, and another part just wishes he could disappear. Yesterday's panic attack is still fresh on Tyler's mind, along with the argument with Madison, the secret Brendon knows, and Josh learning that he could basically control Tyler just by pinching his hip.

Tyler faces away from his friends, subtly hitting his temple against the surface of the table. He lets out a quiet, frustrated groan. _I'm such a freaking virgin,_ Tyler thinks irritably. _I'm a huge virgin, with a huge crush on my best friend._ Not only do all of yesterday's events pester him, but today has been a bit of a bugger, as well. He gets chastised by his sister (Josh's fault), gets punched in the face (He hasn't decided if this is Brendon's fault, or his own), and broke up with his girlfriend during second period (Tyler wants to blame Josh for this as well, since he just _had_ to make Tyler fall head over heels for him).

Granted, Jenna took it like a champ, and even agreed that they needed to split up. Something about how she kind of sensed Tyler liked someone else, and decided she didn't want him to be with her because he thought he had to. Though both of the teenagers seemed relieved by the peaceful break up, and promised to stay friends, Tyler can't help but feel a little sad. When he first met Jenna, he just knew—or _thought_ he knew—that she was the one, and had a very happy year with her...and then Joshua Dun walked into his life.

Tyler flips around so he is facing his friends again, letting out another uncomfortable sounding grunt. At this, Pete looks down at him with a crease in his brow, trying to figure out if he should say something. Under the table, Tyler's legs jitter anxiously, and he had this stormy look in his dark eyes. Pete reaches over and rubs Tyler's back, pursing his lips.

“Are you doing alright?” Pete hums, and Tyler, nearly bursting with the need to talk, makes a really strange choking noise before sitting up.

“No, I'm not doing alright,” Tyler whines, cradling his head in his hands. Brendon—who was sitting on the other side of Pete—gets up and sits next to Tyler, looking for signs of a panic attack.

“What's on your mind?” Brendon asks gently, eyes flitting nervously to Patrick and Pete. Tyler doesn't surface from his hands as he tells them everything; what caused his anxiety attack yesterday, him breaking up with Jenna, his sister's uncomfortable looks, his confusion about his sexuality, and finally, his feelings for Josh. Tyler doesn't dance around any of the topics, either, he just flat out tells them how he feels.

“I've known him for like, two weeks now. My heart is acting as if he is my stupid soul mate, or something,” Tyler groans, moving his hands and letting his head fall to the table with a thump.

“Maybe he is?” Patrick tries, but Tyler makes a sound kin to an angry bear, so Patrick quickly apologizes.

“I don't know,” Tyler sighs. “I...I have always been taught in church that being gay is...a sin.” Tyler struggles with more to say, sitting back up. “I never really believed that, or maybe I just never cared...but I'm uncomfortable thinking that I like a guy.”

“Oh, uh,” Pete starts, but isn't really sure where to go from there. The three boys—all of which are homosexual in some way—look put out by this confession. Sensing this, Tyler begins to panic.

“I don't care if other people are, I just always thought I was straight!” He hisses, waving his hands around. “I just never liked guys before, and I feel weird. I feel like I was wrong in thinking I only liked girls, and I don't like being wrong.”

“Tyler,” Brendon sighs, but he doesn't know what to say. Of course they don't, they have had their sexualities figured out for ages—and if they haven't gotten everything completely figured out, then they are at least comfortable in their own bodies. Tyler feels jealous, and a bit foolish for admitting so much, so he simply keeps his head down, and doesn't join in the conversation when one starts up again.

After a few minutes, the cafeteria is full, and students chatter, squeal, and eat. At some point, Frank and Mikey walk to the table, Mikey looking uncomfortable as Frank exclaims he is going to give Mikey another black eye to match the one he received yesterday. When they sit down across from Tyler and Pete, Frank is asked who put a stick up his ass.

“Gerard did, and Mikey didn't help me,” Frank snaps irritably, and when he gets a bunch of giggles in reply, he narrows his eyes. “What are you laughing about?”

“We asked who put a stick up your bum, and you said your boyfriend did it,” Patrick replies, not looking as amused as his friends. Frank flushes and shakes his head.

“He's not my boyfriend,” Frank grumbles, and Mikey snorts, subtly shaking his head.

“So, Gerard said in the chat he was taking the situation to the principal,” Patrick states. “Did he?”

“Yeah, and as I walked out of the office, Oliver and Caine went inside.” Frank makes a little huffing noise, picking at his Styrofoam lunch tray. “They gave Mikey, Gee, and I some really angry looks.”

“Hey, it's probably for the best. Get them before they can get you,” Brendon tries, scooting away from Tyler so he could pat Frank's back. Frank groans and puts his head on the table, and Tyler feels sympathy for him. Silence consumes the table for a moment, until there is a holler from across the lunch room. Turning his head curiously, Tyler spots Josh entering the cafeteria with a bag of skittles and a few dollar bills in one hand, and he juggles _several_ bottles of water in the other.

Tyler flushes when Josh plops down in the seat next to Tyler—the one Brendon had abandoned—the boy giving him a squinty-eyed smile as he begins sliding bottles of water to everyone.

“Thank you,” Patrick says gratefully, pushing his untouched milk aside to drink the water instead. “Is there a reason why you bought so many waters?” Josh grins so big that Tyler's heart flips, so he looks at the table instead.

“I put a Ten in the machine, and the dumb thing malfunctioned and thought I wanted ten waters.” Josh rolls his eyes, but he doesn't seem upset as he shoves the remaining waters in his bag. He hands one to Tyler, looking a bit shy.

“This one is strawberry flavoured, I hope you don't mind.” Josh says shyly, and Tyler blushes as he looks around the table, to see that everyone else had unflavoured waters, except for himself.

“Thank you,” Tyler replies, and Josh nods gratefully. Josh didn't actually have a malfunction with the machine. Really, he had bought a bottle of water for Tyler, but thought he'd tip off that he likes his best friend. It's strange, because no one at the table would think anything about it; best friends buy things for each other, after all. However, Josh's crush is so obvious to himself, that he worries everyone else will see it, and if everyone else can see it, that means Tyler can, too.

Therefore, Josh went back and spent ten dollars on bottles of water to even things out.

“So, how did things go with Jenna? You stopped texting me,” Josh murmurs, chewing the inside of his lip as he plays with the cap of his water bottle. Tyler leans a bit so he is closer to Josh, mostly to comfort himself.

“Well, we split up peacefully. She has wanted to split up for a few days now, because she apparently knew that I had...fallen for someone else.”

“Are you guys still friends?”

“Yes,” Tyler replies, and relief seems to flood Josh's face.

“Sick! Does this mean you are going to pursue the guy you like?” Even though Josh really likes Tyler, he wants his friend to be happy. What's the best way to do that, other than to encourage him?

“Yeah, Tyler, are you going to pursue him?” Brendon cuts in, and everyone stares at him. Pete and Patrick have narrow eyed glares, and Tyler shifts uncomfortably.

“Sure, I'll uh, send him a text tonight.” Tyler explains half-heartedly, picking at the wrapper on his water bottle.

“Speaking of tonight, are we still playing video games?” Josh asks, and Tyler nods quickly.

“Unless you've changed your mind.” Tyler prays that he doesn't.

“I'll walk you home, then,” Josh gives Tyler a toothy grin, and Tyler gives him a flustered smile back.

“Are you too angry at Gerard to come over? You have an audition,” Mikey says to Frank, and Frank rolls his eyes.

“Gerard may have irritated me to death, but I'm not actually mad at him,” Frank concedes, and Mikey gives him a satisfied nod.

“Well if everyone else is talking about plans,” Brendon calls, “Are the remaining few still coming to the park with me?” Patrick and Pete nod, and Mikey says something about going to the park for a bit, before band practice. Soon, the group of teenagers are chatting about the park, video games, and bands, before the bell rings. The boys throw away their trash and disperse, then rush to fourth period.

Josh walks Tyler to choir, before giving him a quick hug—one that was unexpected, but appreciated none-the less—before scurrying to Physics. Tyler walks into the classroom of thirty plus students, practically beaming.

 

* * *

 

**Frank Iero—1:23—locker**

Frank sighs as he wiggles around, trying not to freak out. Oh, you thought he was _at_ his locker? Nope. He is currently standing _in_ one, his elbows shoved into his ribs, a book pressing into his side. He stands on tiptoe, trying to see out of the slits at the top of the Locker door, but he isn't tall enough.

Frank had been minding his own business, trying to get to his locker because he forgot his notebook. On his way here, a t-shirt was thrown over his head so he couldn't see, and then he was dutifully bullied into the locker, the door slammed shut behind him. From the raucous laughter, he just assumed it was some of Caine's friends getting revenge without stepping over any expulsion-worthy lines.

So, here he is, stood in a locker with an irritated glint in his eye and no phone to call for help. Sure, he could scream for someone to open the locker, but that's probably what Caine's cronies want him to do. Fine, Frank can wait, it's not like he went to any of his other classes, today. Well, alright, he was in the middle of fourth period when he asked to go to his locker, but that just means that if he never comes back, Gerard will come find him.

Frank waits for a long time before the bell rings, and even though he is short enough to stand in the locker, his arms are crooked inwards, and his head kind of hurts from when he bumped it against the locker shelf. The hallway floods with the sound of students stomping, chattering, and screaming, each of them excited to get to intervention, which is a sort of “extra class”, where you can either sit around until the final bell rings, or finish your homework and retake tests.

Frank hears his name being called from somewhere down at the end of the hall, and before he can call out his location, he hears the pad lock knocking against the locker door. Excited, Frank pushes on the door as soon as it is wrenched open, and Frank lets out a relieved scream. He meant to say thank you, or thank God, but ended up just yelling something unintelligible into his savior's face. It was the girl who had been listening intently to Caine's story on Friday, so Frank doesn't feel any remorse as she screams in terror and runs away.

Students watch with wide eyes as Frank climbs gracefully out of the locker, and straightens his tie. He smirks a little bit, feeling rather proud as he shuts the locker and fixes the lock back into place. Gerard runs towards him, holding both his and Frank's things, looking relieved.

“Frank! Were you in that locker the whole time?” Gerard gasps, doubling over when he reaches Frank. Fuck, he needs to whip himself into shape.

“Yeah, but it's fine,” Frank shrugs, taking his backpack from Gerard's hand. “Wanna go to the library for intervention? I'm not too keen on going to the gym, since I skipped second, today.” Gerard just huffs, shaking his head.

“You know the principal wanted to talk to us.” Gerard corrects, and Frank scowls.

“I don't want to, though!” Gerard shakes his head again, and laces his hand with Frank's.

“Please stop making this harder than it needs to be, and follow me to the damn office.” Gerard tugs on Frank's hand, using his thumb to rub small circles into Frank's wrist. Melting under Gerard's soft gaze and warm hands, Frank just nods mutely, realizing he has lost.

  


–

The school had gotten a new principal—and vice principal—at the beginning of the semester, and as it turns out, Frank had talked to the _vice_ principal today. His name is Jackson Eugene, a young man who's greying hair is already receding at his temples. He has soft, dark eyes and a crooked smile, and actually seemed as though he wants to help Frank and Mikey.

However, Frank is meeting the _principal_ this time, because apparently telling Mr. Eugene wasn't enough. When Frank and Gerard are sat in the principal's cramped office, Frank takes his time to nervously observe his surroundings. Frank is sure the office would be much bigger, had there not been six mahogany bookshelves, four yellow-cushioned chairs, a matching sofa, and a long, mahogany desk. All of the furniture is sort of squished together, and the only window is partly covered by one of the book shelves.

There are no pictures, knickknacks, or colourful pencil holders, just a computer, some books, and a few plain ball point pens. Frank expects for some very grave, old man to walk into the room—considering how sad and bare the room is—but his eyebrows shoot up when a petite, slender woman with long red hair strides through the door. She wears a bright green dress with a floral pattern, and matching high heels that barely make her taller than Frank. She wears a kind smile as she sits behind her desk, offering a greeting.

“Hello, I'm Ms. Charlot, I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you.” Ms. Charlot holds her hand across the desk for Frank to shake, and Frank sends Gerard an unsure look before taking her hand.

“Frank Iero,” He mutters with a nod, before sitting back in his seat. Ms. Charlot hums as she reaches into a hidden drawer behind her desk, producing a few sheets of paper. As she flits through them, a crease forms between her brow.

“From what your friend has told me, along with Mr. Eugene's notes and your past records, it would seem as though bullying has been an issue for you for a _long_ time.” Though it is a simple statement, Ms. Charlot seemed to be looking for an answer, or reply of some sort. Frank shifts uncomfortably in his seat, resisting the urge to grab Gerard's hand.

“Uh, sure.”

“Tell me about what happened Friday, and this morning,” Ms. Charlot prompts, and Frank wilts into his seat. He tells her about how Caine was using homophobic slurs, and threatening to get the gay kid he encountered into some sort of trouble. Then he explains that Caine began pushing Mikey around and had been stepping all over the boy, and how he dutifully stopped Caine before any more harm could come to Mikey.

“So you intervened with violence?” The woman asked, and Frank shrugs one shoulder.

“It was self defense.”

“Frank, self defense means you are defending _yourself._ ”

“I warned Caine not to hurt Mikey anymore,” Frank argues, his volume raising a bit, “If I didn't hit him, Mikey's wrist could have been broken. I was the only person who stood up for him, because no one else cared!” Frank fumes in his seat, glaring angrily at the woman.

“Frank, dear, please calm down,” Ms. Charlot soothes. “I'm not angry you protected your friend, I'm actually quite glad you stood up to a bully...but next time, go find a teacher, or try to use a non-violent way to prevent harassment.”

Frank just grumbles in his seat, especially when he catches Gerard grinning into his hand.

“Now tell me about the threat you received today,” the principal's voice is stern, now, and Frank sighs as he gives a play-by-play of what happened. He doesn't leave out a single detail, and as the woman looks down at her papers and scribbles things down, she seems a bit weary.

“From what it sounds like, Mr. Iero, what you had received today could legally be considered a 'true threat'. Do you know what that is?” Ms. Charlot inquires, and though Frank can probably deduce the meaning, he shakes his head silently.

“If a student says something like, hmm,” Ms. Charlot pauses, thinking of a metaphor to use. “If a student doesn't get their way and just flings around the term 'I'll shoot you if you don't do this', it often wouldn't be considered a 'true threat', as they had been loosely flinging around the term out of anger.”

Ms. Charlot stares at Frank for a moment, waiting to see if he caught on to what she is saying. She lets out a sigh before continuing.

“However, if a threat is made and the circumstances are so 'unequivocal, unconditional, immediate, and specific' that it seems as though the threat will honestly be carried out, then we could consider that a 'true threat'. From what you, your friends, and a few witnesses we had brought in here today have said, it would seem as though what you received could be considered a true threat, and could warrant discipline.”

Frank stares dumbfounded at her, trying to make sense of all the big words and technical terms she had used.

“Does this mean Caine and Oliver are getting in trouble, or…?” Frank trails off, fidgeting in his seat. The woman looks down at her papers.

“From what I've learned today, it's possible the boys could get into some trouble, such as suspension for a few days. Both boys have parole officers, which changes things, of course. They could be facing charges or getting sent off, however, we still need to talk to the boys, talk to your friends Micheal and Ray, and see what a judge has to say.” Gerard lets out a groan, the first noise he has made since entering the room.

“So you're saying it's completely possible Caine and Oliver will walk out of here with a slap on the wrist?” Gerard asks angrily. “You're saying that my brother will get bullied and my boyfriend will get killed, all because someone else might not see this as a 'true threat'? That's what you're saying?” Ms. Charlot stares at Gerard with panicked eyes, before waving both of her hands in front of her.

“Please calm down, Mr. Way! While I _am_ saying that Oliver and Caine could walk away from all of this, we could still get things like restraining orders and—”

“A restraining order isn't going to keep Frank from getting a knife in his side,” Gerard huffs irritably, before standing up and walking out of the room. Ms. Charlot calls for him to come back, but gives up and leans forward in her chair. She sighs lightly, looking at Frank with frustrated eyes. Frank squirms in his seat, feeling uncomfortable and frightened by Gerard's words.

“Your...boyfriend seems to care a lot about you,” Ms. Charlot says, looking tired. Frank can tell this is her first year as a principal, and she obviously has no idea what to do with all of these responsibilities placed upon her; Frank feels pity.

“Yeah, he does,” Frank mutters, deciding not to correct her about the whole 'boyfriend' thing. They sit for a few more moments in silence, before going over things in more detail, but this time the school cop listens as well. Five minutes before the bell rings, Ms. Charlot tells Frank that she will be calling his mother this afternoon, so they could have a meeting; they will decide on what to do from there.

 

* * *

 

**Brendon—3:30 PM—the Creek at the Park**

Brendon crouches on the bank next to Dallon—who managed to sneak out of the house—hands in the water as they over turn rocks in search of lizards. Patrick and Pete sit on the bridge, legs dangling over the side, and the tips of their sneakers brushing the chilly, shallow water. Somewhere farther down the stream, Frank, Gerard, and Mikey laugh and scream as they pull Crayfish—a type of crustacean that are strikingly similar to lobsters—out from under rocks and chase each other with them.

“Make a wish,” Dallon says, and Brendon looks away from his cold, pink fingers to see Dallon holding a small periwinkle on the tip of his index finger. Brendon is confused for a moment, before remembering that he told Dallon that Periwinkles grant wishes. Brendon grins a little, and leans his lips close to the small snail.

When Brendon was a kid, he would whisper his wish to the Periwinkle, so it could hear his wish. Then, he'd gently set it back in the creek so that the water could fill the Periwinkle with magic. Sure, Brendon was just a kid, and he doesn't believe this will work—he doesn't even know where he came up with the idea that Periwinkles were like wishing stars—but for Dallon's sake, he thinks of a wish to tell.

Brendon is relatively happy right now. He has plenty of friends, a caring boyfriend, and even though his parents aren't home, they text and call him every day to let him know they love him. Brendon isn't really tight on cash—well, after the party, he was left with three dollars—and he is doing alright in most of his classes, so what could he possibly wish for? He looks around at his friends for a second, looking over his shoulder at Pete and Patrick, then peering past Dallon's shaking finger at the brothers and Frank. Two people are missing right now, and Brendon smiles when he realizes it. Then, he leans to the Periwinkle one more time, closes his eyes, and whispers.

“I wish that Josh and Tyler would realize they are soul mates, and live happily ever after.” Apparently, Brendon isn't very good at whispering, because all of his friends begin to make cooing noises.

“Aw, that's so sweet!” Patrick cheers, scrambling to get up and rush to the bank. Everyone watches Dallon set the Periwinkle back into the water, before Patrick is grabbing one as well.

“I want to make a wish too!” Patrick laughs, and soon, a group of 15-18 year old boys are making wishes to freshwater snails.

“Are you sure these are even called Periwinkles?” Dallon asks after setting down his third snail. Brendon looks over at him with bright eyes, grinning from ear to ear.

“No, but does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Dallon laughs.

 

* * *

 

**Tyler—5:00 PM—his bedroom**

Tyler watches with unfocused eyes as Josh's Happy Wheels character jumps over spiked platforms. The two teenagers have been playing various video games, and eating Josh's bag of skittles since school had let out. Tyler keeps getting texts from Brendon, saying things such as “tell me when you and your soul mate get together :)” or “You guys are going to hold hands and stuff, right? xoxo”.

Josh, on the other hand, is getting all of the _important_ updates, such as Frank getting into the band, Dallon going home with Brendon (since Forehead managed to fall in the creek), and whether or not Pete is going to study when he gets home. Tyler appreciates the support he is getting from his friends, but with every questioning text, he just becomes less and less sure of himself.

“Tyler, did you hear me?” Fingers snap in front of Tyler's face, and he blinks rapidly.

“Wha—what?” Tyler asks, eyes wide as he turns to Josh. At some point, Josh's character had reached the finish line, the man on the bike only missing two things: his left leg, and his son.

“I was wondering about, uh...last night, before we fell asleep,” Josh trails off, his face turning a bit pink. “You said you were going to explain stuff to me. Like, the thing in the chat, for instance.”

Tyler shifts uncomfortably, looking at his lap. He really doesn't know what to say; he has his chance, here, right now, to tell Josh how he feels. There are several problems coming up: One, he doesn't even know _how_ to tell a boy he likes him, and two, didn't Josh say something about liking someone, already? Granted, Josh said the guy he like was “straighter than the B's on my report card”, but that meant he doesn't like Tyler. Tyler's phone buzzes in his lap, and he sighs.

“Is that the guy you have a crush on?” Josh asks, and Tyler notices a hint of sorrow in his tone. With his brow furrowed, Tyler glances at his phone to see it's just another text from Brendon; something about whether or not dish liquid should go in someone's ear.

“No, it's just Brendon again,” Tyler hums, staring at his lock screen until it fades to black.

“Oh,” Josh replies. “Are you going to tell me who you like, then? Please? I won't get weird about it, I just want to know who makes you happy.” Tyler glances up at Josh, smiling a bit.

“You want me to be happy?” Tyler asks, and Josh looks a bit confused before nodding.

“I'm happy when you are, so yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Tyler feels butterflies—or maybe it's anxiety?—flutter behind his sternum as he grins at his best friend. He isn't quite sure how he makes up his mind—maybe it's Josh's smile? Maybe he just want to finally tell his best friend? Maybe, for one absolutely cliché, and wonderful second, Tyler can see how much Josh cares for him.

“You,” Tyler sighs, trying to maintain eye contact; it's a harder feat than he imagined. Josh tilts his head just a bit, his eyes becoming all squinty, as if he doesn't understand.

“Me?”

“Yes, Josh. I like _you._ I've known you for like two weeks, and for some reason, you are the first person I've ever looked at and said ' _wow,_ what a dime piece'.” Tyler squirms a bit, plucking his laptop from Josh's lap and setting it on a pillow.

“Me.” Josh sounds dumbfounded, as if he couldn't believe it. Tyler imagines this is a good thing, so he boldly scoots up until he is sitting in Josh's lap, wrapping his arms around his best friend's waist. Josh immediately embraces Tyler as well, still seeming a bit surprised.

“It's okay if you...if you don't reciprocate my feelings.” Tyler sighs into Josh's chest. “I just want you to know that all platonic hugs and hand-holdings won't lead me on, and that I'm okay with being your best friend, and nothing more.”

“But what if I don't want our hugs and hand-holdings to be platonic?” Josh asks in a murmur, resting his cheek on Tyler's head. How did he get so lucky? How did Josh become lucky enough that Tyler likes him as well—that Tyler is sitting here, on his lap and in his arms, warm and small and real?

Neither of the boys say anything, both of them shocked and scared, warm and weirdly happy. They are just two teenagers, who have never experienced love outside of their friends or families. Yet here the two sit, wrapped in each other's arms with matching expressions of softness. They have never felt so warm before, felt so protected other than being curled together with some ad playing on the laptop behind them. Hearts that have never felt so full until now.

It's strange, love is. It's just one of those things that sneak up on you, grabbing you from behind and wrapping you into a warm hug—startling, sudden, and yet very welcome. One might say it's cliché, but aren't clichés real? People fall in love every day; with their best friends, strangers at the bar, and sometimes people even fall in love with their worst enemies. Why is an event such as this one looked down upon, purely because they are best friends that have known each other for a short time?

Granted, Tyler is terrified. He's never been held by a boy before, and has never had his heart race so fast, either. The feeling in his chest is kin to anxiety, but some how much, much better. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on Josh that they were meant to be something; best friends, lovers, you name it. So despite the flighty feeling in his chest, and the radio static in his head, he can't help but feel so _right._

Josh has always known he likes girls _and_ boys, so he isn't as nervous for the same reasons as Tyler. However, he feels scared that Tyler will pull away at any moment, and tell him he changed his mind. That being mentioned, Josh wraps his arms tighter around Tyler, feeling ecstatic when the other teen hugs back, not disappearing, not pulling away, but squirming _closer._

“This is some fairytale stuff, right here,” Josh murmurs, breaking the silence as his breath ruffles Tyler's hair.

“How do you mean?” Tyler quips, closing his eyes and willing his heart to slow down.

“We met like, at the end of August, and yet I feel like you're my soul mate or something.” Tyler laughs abruptly, pulling back. Josh scrambles to keep hold of him, his eyes a bit wide. Tyler only moves enough so he could meet Josh's eye, a smile lighting up his face. Josh practically beams at him, a wholesome feeling in his heart to see Tyler smile like that.

“I said the same thing to the guys at lunch,” Tyler admits, and Josh tilts his head.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tyler places his forehead on Josh's, and both of the boys look flustered.

“Have you ever watched ' _The Fault in Our stars_ ', or read the book?” Josh asks, and Tyler snorts at the sudden question.

“Yes, why?”

“Because we need an 'Okay'.”

“We do?” Tyler looks confused, his nose wrinkling and the corners of his mouth turning down as he thinks. Josh resists the urge to kiss away the frown, and instead bumps his nose against Tyler's.

“Because it's cute, and I like you,” Josh retorts. That wasn't a very good reason, if he is honest with himself, but Tyler looks pleased by the answer, anyways.

“Alright, so what is our 'Okay'?”

“I don't know,” Josh says, looking forlorn. Tyler swings his head back and laughs, shaking his head a bit. “I don't get what's so funny?”

“I'm sorry, you just looked as if someone told you the world ended.” Tyler sobers up, “It was cute.”

“Shuddup,” Josh grumps, face red. “Think of something, we need an 'okay'.”

Tyler doesn't understand what is so important to Josh about this whole 'okay' ordeal, and tilts his head.

“But why do we need an 'okay'?” Tyler asks, bringing his hand up to rest on the nape of Josh's neck; he softly runs his fingers through Josh's hair, tilting his head in confusion once more. Josh is looking down at the hem of Tyler's blue shirt, blushing,

“So I can tell you how much I love you, without saying it too early,” Josh admits, a bitter taste in his mouth as he stares even harder at Tyler's shirt. Tyler's heart thumps as he brings his hand from Josh's neck, to tuck a short lock of hair behind Josh's ear.

“Then just tell me, you dork,” Tyler whispers, and Josh meets his dark eyes for a moment.

“But we haven't known each other long enough—”

“If you love me, then you love me. Doesn't matter how long we have known each other.” Tyler says, sounding more courageous than he feels. “We don't need an 'okay' to know that we love each other. Just tell me, so I know you mean it.”

“I love you,” Josh says finally, and leans forward. He begins to softy press his lips to Tyler's nose, his temple, forehead, cheeks, chin—he doesn't kiss him on the lips, though. He feels like he should save that for just awhile longer, as if he needs to reach a goal before he can receive a prize. Tyler is perfectly fine with this, considering he is nervous about the whole thing, anyways. No amount of pretending to be brave can cover up how scared he is of this new thing, and Josh understands that.

“I love you too, Josh,” Tyler sighs, feeling relaxed as Josh peppers his face with more kisses.

“I'm so relieved to hear that,” Josh huffs, and before Tyler can ask what he meant by that, he plows on. “What is this we are doing, Tyler? Are we...boyfriends? I don't want you to be scared or uncomfortable, so you can say no to that.”

“I'll be honest,” Tyler chuckles. “I prefer the term 'soul mates' than boyfriends. So while we _can_ be boyfriends, I would much rather tell people we are soul mates. Makes it sound like we are really meant to be.”

Josh beams, feeling giddy. “Okay, then Tyler, will you do the honor of officially becoming my soul mate?” Tyler, feeling equally as giddy, nods.

“Yeah?” Josh asks, just to make sure.

“Yeah.”

Little did the two know, that “yeah” becomes their version of “Okay”.

 

* * *

 

**Brendon—6:34 PM—Urie household**

Brendon and Dallon sit together on the white couch, both of them staring at a suspicious, purple stain on one of the cushions. Brendon can only assume that grape juice had been spilled on it, but after the wild party he had, he can only _hope_ that's all it is.

“Don't you think your parents will notice that when they come home?” Dallon asks. Brendon sits curled against Dallon, his back against Dallon's chest, with the taller boy's arms wrapped securely around his waist. Brendon plays with Dallon's fingers, staring hard at the stain, as if from one evil glare alone, it will disappear.

“Not if I flip the cushion around,” Brendon finally decides, giving up on the staring contest; you may have won this round, Mysterious Purple Stain, but you won't be so lucky, next time!

“Want to do that now?” Dallon inquires, already knowing what Brendon's answer will be. Brendon huffs as he wriggles lower onto the couch, so his head is in Dallon's lap, and his sock-clad feet hiding the stain.

“Not really. It's cold and you are warm,” Brendon says simply, and closes his eyes in relief as Dallon cards his finger's through Brendon's hair. Dallon alternates between pushing back Brendon's ridiculous fringe, and gently trailing his fingers around Brendon's temple, over the tips of his ears. It is strangely calming, and Brendon nearly dozes off.

“What time do you need home, by?” Brendon asks, trying to stay awake so he can pay attention to his boyfriend. Dallon hums a soft tune, glancing at the digital clock next to the TV.

“As long as I'm home before twelve, it doesn't really matter,” Dallon answers, and Brendon smiles.

“do you want to hang out for a bit longer?” Brendon pleads, and Dallon shakes as he chuckles.

“Sure, but you look like you're falling asleep.”

“Am not,” Brendon complains, and Dallon rolls his eyes.

“Are too!”

“Not.”

“Are.”

“Not.

“...Not?”

“Are!”

“Ha!” Dallon laughs, and Brendon flushes when he realizes he had been tricked. (But could we _really_ call it a trick?)

“Stop,” Brendon whines loudly, and when Dallon stops playing with his hair, he groans in protest. “I meant for you to stop pestering me, not stop playing with my hair!”

“I see, you should be more specific in the future,” Dallon teases, going back to play with the boy's hair. Brendon clicks his teeth when he shuts his mouth, looking content and peaceful. The two sit in silence, drinking in each other's company—until Brendon's phone chimes irritably in his pocket. Brendon makes vulgar comments that have Dallon nearly crying with laughter, as Brendon shuffles the damn mobile device from his pockets.

Unlocking his phone and swiping his notification bar down, Brendon clears most of his Facebook and Twitter notifs, along with a few app updates. The most recent chime had been a text alert, and Brendon recognizes Tyler's name. He nearly drops his phone in excitement as he sits up and opens the text, looking delighted as he reads.

 **TyJo:** I'm dating Josh

 **TyJo:** instead of “boyfriends”, we have elected to call each other “soul mates”

Brendon lets out an overjoyed shriek as he hops off of the couch. He does a little jig next to the coffee table, and Dallon stands up to dance with him (though he isn't quite sure why they're dancing at all). Finally, Brendon wraps Dallon in a hug and lets out a joyful laugh.

“Oh, man, My wish came true, Dallon!” Brendon says, burying his face in Dallon's chest. The two stay wrapped in a hug, but sway side to side, as if they are slow dancing. “Josh and Tyler said they are soul mates!”

“That's wonderful, Baby,” Dallon coos sweetly, kissing the top of Brendon's head. Brendon practically preens at the pet name, and the showers of affection he is receiving. With Ryan, he was mostly verbally abused and ignored, hardly ever hugged, and never kissed. So being with Dallon is very nice, and the boy is wonderful company.

Dallon pulls away slightly to slide his phone from his pocket. Brendon tries to peer curiously at the screen, but Dallon is able to successfully angle the phone away from the shorter teen. Soon enough, piano chords float through the speaker, and Dallon takes his phone—as well as Brendon's—and sets them on the coffee table. Then, he grabs Brendon's hands and twirls him.

Brendon complies with this, and though he feels a bit silly, he stays focused enough to follow Dallon's lead and dance in a tight circle. They certainly wouldn't win any competitions, as there are several instances of toe-trodding and abrupt laughter when someone knocks into the couch, but the two are happy and content none-the-less.

The song ends, and a new one begins, but this time, Dallon just holds Brendon in place, lanky and tall as he drapes his arms around Brendon's waist, Brendon seemingly small and breakable. Dallon knows what Ryan had said this morning, and it doesn't take a genius to realize Brendon was treated like shit; Dallon just wants to change all that; Dallon wants to make sure Brendon knows he is cared for.

Dallon hums a little tune as he pulls Brendon back to the couch. Then, he drags Brendon onto his lap and peppers his face with loving kisses.

“Is this okay?” Dallon murmurs, his lips inches from Brendon's. Brendon smiles a little, eyes drooping sleepily.

“More than okay,” Brendon sighs, scooting closer and pressing his lips against Dallon's.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // I envy the authors who can post a chapter with short end notes, or none at all. *sigh*  
> That being said, I'll try to make this short.  
> 1) I've learned only yesterday that Periwinkles are the SALT water snails! I'm basing Brendon's experience with my own, whereas I thought Periwinkle sounded like twinkle (which reminded me of wishing stars.) I made wishes off of them when I was a kid...However, I was always told the little black snails are called Periwinkles, even though they apparently aren't?? I googled them, to find the real name, and yet I couldn't find the right information. Feel free to tell me what they are called, if you know.  
> 2)That whole "death Threat" thing? Yeah, uh...I don't actually know much about the /protocol/ for something like that, but what I DO know is that when I was in high school, a fellow student threatened another similarly to Frank, and was sent off. (Public schools, man. wtf.)  
> anyways, the information the principal told Frank was inspired by this website "  
> http://www.ascd.org/publications/books/104147/chapters/Student-Threats-and-Violence-in-Schools.aspx" If you are interested.   
> 3) the next chapter will feature a bit of Peterick, I hope. I want to jump start a romance for them, but I also want a slow build. (as you can tell, I failed everywhere else, with that.)  
> 4) this won't be the last time you hear from Oliver, Caine, or Ryan (I'm so sorry he's the antagonist)  
> -  
> I'm no longer going to put my email and stuff in the notes (I'm trying to keep them shorter), but I'm sure you guys get the idea: you can email me anytime, comment anytime, leave a kudos or bookmark. I'm here for you, and your comments make me feel more encouraged to do stuff! So please leave one!  
> If you have actually read this far, congrats! please add "j and t are soulmates 5ever" to your comment!   
> (i am such a fricking weirdo, and i need to go to bed)  
> -  
> I hope you all have/have had a wonderful holiday experience (or if you don't celebrate a holiday in december, I hope you had a nice, normal day!), and I wish you an awesome new year! Stay amazing, bumblebees!!


	5. QUICK, BUT IMPORTANT, NOTE: PLEASE READ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to add a summary I'm sorry

  Hello, Bumblebees! This isn't actually a chapter—as you may be able to tell—but I would appreciate it if you would read this and give me a bit of feedback!

  Okay, so as many of you must know by now, I had written a sexual fantasy in chapter three. Well, I hadn't gotten much feedback, because it was just around three paragraphs. That being said, I don't really know how you guys feel about it!

  If I were to write some smut in one of the upcoming chapters (I'm hoping I'll get closer to double digits before I do), would any of you even be interested in reading it? Of course, I'd make sure to update all of the story tags, and I'd add a note in my usual list of Trigger Warnings. (This is so you guys can skip over that section, and continue reading the story.)

  Ultimately, I will do as I wish, but opinions and feedback really help me shape the story. So, who knows, even if I _want_ to write smut, if a lot of you disagree—and have good reasons that pertain to the story—I will most likely listen. In advance, you guys should know that I have no idea who the scene will be between (Hey, you guys can vote on that, too), so whatever happens, happens.

  In addition to this, if you guys have any ideas for upcoming chapters, or things/people you'd like to see more of, I'd really like to hear what you all have to say!

So, to sum everything up:

  Before you move on to ch.5, comment your thoughts on me writing a sexual-sort of chapter(and ideas on who it should be between). Alternatively, if you have any ideas or events that could take place, I'd like to hear them, as well!

  If you read this, I really appreciate it! I'll see you guys in chapter six! Stay amazing, bumblebees~

Much gratitude,

HomicideAndGlitter


	6. Apologies In The Form of Stolen_Snacks And bondage.and.milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power outages  
> flash floods  
> barns  
> arguments  
> makeup  
> and dairy products.  
> What do all of these things have in common?  
> Nothing, really, but now you know what to look for.  
> \----  
> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR CHAPTER:***  
> -REFERENCED/MENTIONED SELF HARM:  
>  Hinted throughout section “Patrick stump- 7:00AM- Tuesday, September 6th- school cafeteria”, and a bit thereafter, as well. Not detailed, but tread lightly, anyways!  
> -MILD LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL INNUENDOS   
>  all throughout the chapter  
> Also, a LOT of new user names, so watch out!  
> STAY SAFE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //I've been writing on this chapter for the past two months, because I've had a sort of writer's block, and the reason why Chapter 5 took so long to create was because I had to write it about *three different times* to get it right. Also, another factor is that I'm trying to not only move houses, but cities as well. I'M SO STRESSED AHHH  
>  However, I hope you guys will forgive me, and if not, I hope you at least enjoy the chapter! :)  
>  ((ALSO, DID YOU GUYS SEE THE NEW VIDEO FOR HEAVYDIRTYSOUL? I'VE WATCHED IT, LIKE, EIGHT TIMES. SO GOOD. AND JOSH'S YELLOW HAIR. BLESS. These are the biggest reasons for the update tbh, and I meant to post this during the day of HDS, but I lost internet access for a day or two lmao #AwfulAuthor))

**Patrick Stump—7:00 AM—Tuesday, September 6 th—School Cafeteria**

  For once in his entire school career, Patrick gets to breakfast before Pete does. Patrick waits quietly, not as cheerful or chatty when other students pass, as Pete usually is. Patrick just sits and stares out the window, contemplating the rain clouds that threaten to block the slowly rising sun.

  The night previous was spent trying to console Pete—in between hushed conversations and shoddy reassurances, Patrick had admitted over the phone that he was in love with Pete. Honestly, Patrick wasn't quite sure what he expected when he finished his nervous confession, but Pete's reaction _wasn't it._

  Pete had been silent for several minutes, and the whole time, Patrick felt more and more like an idiot, wondering if he had just received mixed messages every time he _thought_ Pete had been hitting on him. Just when Patrick was near tears, Pete let out a long winded, tired sounding sigh. If that wasn't disappointing and non-reassuring enough, what Pete had done next was _really_ a kicker.

  “Goodbye, Patrick,” was all Pete said, and abruptly hung up the phone, not even waiting for a response. Never has Pete been the first to hang up unless he had an urgent reason to, and never has Patrick heard him sound so...so...is there a word for it? Patrick had never even heard Pete speak in that tone—especially not to _Patrick_ , of all people—and if Pete's sudden lack of interest wasn't enough to clue Patrick in, the negativity sure was.

  Obviously, if Patrick didn't have a word to describe the disappointed tone, he certainly wasn't sure what to do next. Patrick had lied there so long in bed, trying desperately to get Pete to answer his phone as he calls relentlessly. He spent so long crying, texting, and calling Pete that it completely depleted the iPhone's battery; when his phone finally powered off, and Patrick was sure Pete wasn't going to call back, Patrick sat up in bed and plugged his phone to its charger with tears of embarrassment and fear streaming down his round cheeks.

  Patrick cried for quite some time last night, feeling so stupid for thinking his love was enough, or thinking that Pete could even love him back, in the first place. Worried, angry, hurt, and scared—Patrick was a tornado of negative emotions and cried for several hours, occasionally powering his phone back on to call Pete, though the calls were never answered, and the phone had difficulties staying charged; Patrick gave up.

  When Patrick woke up this morning, he still had dried tears crumbling in his eyes and on his cheeks, his face still a dark shade of embarrassment-red. He turned on his fully charged phone in hopes that he'd get a text from Pete, but had received nothing. However, in the group chat, _ThnksPt_ had been making Jokes with Brendon and Frank _long_ after his conversation with Patrick.

  Patrick was absolutely livid that Pete never sent a reassuring text to him, and Patrick quickly realizes the fear he felt had been unnecessary. Pete had said goodbye for reasons _other_ than what Patrick had assumed, and now the boy is just flat out embarrassed and offended. Feeling more snubbed and angry than hurt, Patrick dutifully sent a greeting to the group chat and everyone logged on, carefully saying all of his friend's names _except_ for Pete's.

 

* * *

 

**6:35 AM, this morning**

–

 **Patrick Stump:** good morning to Brendon, Dallon, Frank, Mikey, and Tyler.

  


**Tyler Joseph:** good morning, Patrick

  


**Mikey Way:** gm pat

  


**Dallon Weekes:** Morning! :)

  


**xofrnk:** yo, same to you, 'trick

  


**Bren_Done:** good morning!

 **Bren_Done:** you forgot to add Pete's name though, lol

  


_User_ **Patrick Stump** _changed their name to_ **I.Dont.Care** _._

  


**Tyler Joseph:** oh, look at the time! It's no-drama o'clock.

 **Tyler Joseph:** sorry fellas, but it's time for me to head out

  


**xofrnk:** great, just what this chat needs

 **xofrnk:** beef.

 **xofrnk:** I hate beef, both of the animal kind and the drama kind

  


**I.Dont.Care:** sorry to be rude, Frank, but just read my name to know how I feel about your statement.

  


**Bren_Done:** whoa whoa whoa!

 **Bren_Done:** that wasn't very nice, Patrick, come on

 **Bren_Done:** this attitude you suddenly have isn't like you

  


**xofrnk:** dude, I did nothing to deserve your attitude, 'trick

 **xofrnk:** what's got your knickers in a twist?

  


**I.Dont.Care:** why don't you just ask Wentz? I'm sure he could tell you

  


**ThnksPt:** hey, it's not MY fault you have an attitude!

  


**I.Dont.Care:** it isn't? Then how about I set thing right?

 **I.Dont.Care:** *things

 **I.Dont.Care:** it's your fault for leading me on

 **I.Dont.Care:** it's your fault for sending me mixed messages over the entire course of our friendship

 **I.Dont.Care:** it's your fault I confessed having feelings for you

 **I.Dont.Care:** it's your fault you abruptly left, scaring the absolute FUCK out of me

 **I.Dont.Care:** and it's your fault I only have two hours of sleep, because I spent the entire night crying and trying to get you to answer my calls to make sure you were okay

 **I.Dont.Care:** did I get everything right, or do I need to continue?

  


**Mikey Way:** holy fucking shit

 **Mikey Way:** this became more than just beef...maybe you should carry this conversation elsewhere?

 **Mikey Way:** like...in person?

  


**ThnksPt:** Patrick, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean for my reaction to come out the way it did

 **ThnksPt:** I just had to do something, and I needed to think

  


**I.Dont.Care:** How did you think it would come across?

 **I.Dont.Care:** after nearly ten minutes of flat silence, you hung up the phone without a response!

  


**ThnksPt:** hey, I said goodbye before that!

  


**I.Dont.Care:** oh, /so/ reassuring.

 **I.Dont.Care:** thanks, Pete! :)

 **I.Dont.Care:** I hope you caught all the fear and hurt I felt in that little sentence.

  


**Bren_Done:** okay, I have had enough of this

 **Bren_Done:** you two need to talk in person, not over a chat filled with other people in it

 **Bren_Done:** and if you two don't make up today, I'm going to raise hell.

  


_User_ **Bren_Done** _has suspended user_ **ThnksPt** _and (_ **1** _) others from the chat. They will be allowed activity again when the time span of (_ **2 hours** _) have passed, or if another user re-invites them. For more options, refer_ **here**.

  


**xofrnk:** this is going to be an awkward day, isn't it?

 

* * *

 

  Presently, Patrick continues to stare out of the window, still feeling embarrassed by not only the fear from last night, and blatant rejection he received, but his outburst in the group chat as well. He knows now that bringing all of that up in the chat was unwise, and he realizes that he looked childish for becoming angry enough to change his user name. If Brendon hadn't suspended his chat activity, Patrick would change his user name and apologize to everyone right now, including Pete.

  Patrick let his broken heart decide his actions for him, and being so blinded by anger and sadness, he even rudely offended Frank for the boy's opinions and choices. Thinking back on it, Patrick is even more upset that he basically told Frank that he didn't care if the boy has morals on eating meat or seeing his friends arguing; and that isn't how Patrick truly feels at all.

  Patrick rests his head on his arms, watching silently as little plips of rain hit the large windows—it seems as if the sky is as upset as Patrick feels.

  Tyler is the first person to join Patrick, and as he sets down his styrofoam tray, he eyes Patrick warily. He may not have responded to the argument in the chat, but he had watched as everyone furiously typed replies until, finally, Brendon had suspended the offenders from using the chat. Tyler isn't sure what he is to say to his friend after that, but he supposes a simple greeting would suffice, either way.

  “Hey,” Tyler attempts, and Patrick slides his eyes from the window to meet Tyler's gaze, seemingly surprised that the boy is sitting not two seats away from him. Behind his thick rimmed glasses, Patrick's eyes are red and puffy, and as of this moment, squinting in suspicion.

  “Hello,” Patrick replies in a guarded tone. The strawberry-blond didn't expect anyone to sit with him after this morning's dispute, but before he could get his hopes up, Patrick remembers he is sitting at _their_ table. Tyler probably only sat here because it belongs to Pete and the others; not because he is still friends with Patrick.

  Just as the Way boys, Pete, and Brendon walk over, Patrick has already begun gathering his things in front of a confused Tyler. When the guys begin to awkwardly set down their food, Patrick has stood up.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Tyler asks, standing up and catching Patrick's arm as he walks past. Patrick stares at Tyler with apprehension .

  “I figure you guys would want me to sit elsewhere, due to my uncalled-for outburst this morning.” All the friends share unsure glances before Tyler pushes Patrick into the seat next to him with more force than necessary.

  “Dude, sit down. You and Pete may be having some weird... _thing_ , but that doesn't mean the two of you won't make up, or that we aren't your friends anymore.” Tyler decides this is a matter-of-fact, and sits back down as well. He glares at his friends, challenging them to defy his decision to have Patrick stay.

  “Oh, okay,” Patrick remarks, looking at his lap. The table goes silent, all of the boys—save Patrick—giving each other prompting glances and urgent looks, trying to get someone to break the silence first. Thankfully, Frank does just that when he jogs to the table.

  Frank is grinning as he sits on the other side of Patrick, startling the boy when he drops a hand onto his shoulder.

  “Dude, you didn't apologize, but I've decided to forgive you anyways,” Frank says with a dazzling smile, not catching the admiring look Gerard sends him for it. Patrick couldn't help it, his eyes well up with tears and he looks back down at his lap, tucking his chin into his chest in hopes no one would see his red face.

  “I really am sorry for my actions this morning,” Patrick says quietly, thankful that Dallon and Josh—though the latter had no idea what was going on—had arrived in time to hear his apology. When the two boys sit down, Josh gives Tyler a questioning look, one that is just met with a small head shake.

  “And I am especially sorry to you, Frank. I _do_ care about your morals, and how you dislike it when your friends argue. I'm sorry!” Patrick sniffles a little bit, wishing that apologizing didn't make him feel like an even bigger asshole. Frank just sighs and rubs his friend's back.

  “Man, you're looking way to deep into it; frankly, I really don't care if you like any of my morals. I know you only threw shade because you were upset, even if you were throwing shade at the wrong person.” Frank puts his head on the table, trying to look Patrick in the eye. “Don't beat yourself up over it.”

  “You said 'frankly',” Brendon giggles, and receives several glares from his friends. Brendon raises his hands in surrender, looking sheepish, “sorry, not the time for that.”

  “How are you still being nice to me?” Patrick whimpers, turning his head so Frank couldn't meet his eyes.

  “Because you are still so upset about last night, that you are blowing everything out of proportion. All you did was get a little sassy to some of us this morning.” Frank sits up and drops his hand. “Besides, it takes a lot less effort to be nice, than it does to be a prick. Therefore, I'm choosing to forgive you, rather than fight or act like a child.”

  “Well, now that the air has been cleared with Frank, how about you clear the air with someone else?” Gerard asks pointedly, and Pete gives him a withering glare. Gerard had been clued in on the whole situation by Mikey, and is certainly ready to get rid of this thick atmosphere from between the two uneasy friends.

  Patrick slowly raises his eyes to Pete, his chin quivering a bit as he mutters, “I'm sorry for the things I've said, Pete, and for jumping to conclusions rather than talk to you directly...especially after our talk last night.” However, Pete does the opposite of what Patrick expects once more. Rather than accept his friend's apology and offer his own (maybe with an explanation of last night included), Pete just scowls and turns his head to look at Brendon.

  “So, Brendon, as I was saying before we were _rudely interrupted_ in the chat, how do you feel about the Cubs game last night?” Pete says this with a mockingly cheerful voice, and everyone just stares at him with wide eyes. Patrick feels his heart plummet into his stomach, and heat floods his face. To his friends' surprise—e _specially_ Pete's—tears spring into Patrick's eyes as he stumbles out of his seat and gathers his things with a choked sob.

  “Wait!” Tyler yelps, trying to grab Patrick again. Patrick shakes him off with a wet cough and a jerk of his arm, causing Tyler to stumble forward. When Josh catches Tyler's fall by throwing his arm across his belly, Patrick has already managed to run through the back doors and out into the drizzle of rain.

  “Dude, _are you fucking kidding me?_ ” Frank snarls, glaring at Pete. Tyler puts a grateful hand on Josh's shoulder before whipping around to face Pete as well. “He apologized and _everything,_ you ass! Did my 'nice-is-easier-than-prick' speech not mean anything to you?”

  “He had no right to spread my business in the chat,” Pete defends hotly, crossing his arms.

  “From what it seems,” Brendon begins coldly, “You have a problem responding to people when they are vulnerable to you.”

  “Oh, come off it! What the hell do you mean by that?” Pete barks. Brendon leans away from his best friend, scowling.

  “He tells you he has feelings for you, and you hang up on him—much like how you did when he apologized with _tears in his eyes!_ I suggest you stop being a fucking pansy and tell him how you feel as well, because I _know_ you like him too!”

  “You have absolutely no context as to why I hung up the phone, Brendon,” Pete seethes, and before Brendon could reply, Josh lets out an audible sigh.

  “And apparently, Patrick has no context, either,” Josh says calmly. “I have no idea what's going on—I flat out _refuse_ to look at the messages—but I suspect Patrick's actions were pretty justified.”

  “I was going to apologize this morning, and explain what happened! Believe me, it's not like I wanted to leave him hanging...but he totally slipped his confession in at a very inconvenient time!”

  “What makes you think that?” Dallon asks, genuinely curious as to how romantic confessions could be inconvenient during a phone conversation.

  Pete lowers his gaze to the table, looking hesitant as he fiddles with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

  “I was having some... _difficulties_ last night, and I had called Patrick for some help. As usual, he sat and listened to me talk, and he offered comfort and solutions...however, his idea of comfort seemed to be telling me he loves me—it wasn't as helpful as it sounds.”

  The group stare at him, not sure what they are hearing. To them, getting told they are loved by their crush would seem _very_ comforting, not the opposite. How could Pete not take comfort or happiness from that?

  “Pete,” Brendon says slowly, holding his hand out and slowly reaching towards Pete's arm. “What do you mean by 'difficulties'?”

  Brendon has a feeling he knows.

  Pete's face crumples a bit and his shoulders sag in defeat—he doesn't pull away when Brendon picks up his hand.

  “I know you can guess, Bren,” Pete answers gently, and Brendon makes a pained expression as he scoots in the edge of his seat to pull down Pete's sleeve. A thick medical bandage wraps around Pete's wrist, and when pulling down the sleeve of Pete's other arm, Brendon reveals more bandages. Pete allows his arms to fall back onto the table, and he stares at his wrapped injuries, almost as if he couldn't believe these arms belonged to him.

  The boys sit there, quiet. The only people at the table who knew about Pete's “difficulties” are Brendon and Mikey—his best friend and his ex boyfriend. All of his friends stare at Pete silently, confused and hurt by what they are seeing. Sometimes, there just aren't enough words to say when you find out that your friend self harms. Sometimes, it really is easy to forget that happy-go-lucky people like Pete can hurt and have problems, too, so for some of his friends, this is a bit jarring.

  “I'm not going to go in full detail, but.” Pete stops his sentences as he rolls his sleeves over his arms. “Something particular triggered me, so to say, last night, and I barely stopped myself from—”

  “Pete,” Brendon interrupts softly, not ready to hear the words Pete was going to say. Pete clears his throat with an apologetic nod, realizing this is a delicate topic, and he has no idea how his other friends would react to something like this. He continues his explanation, omitting the triggering details he isn't sure he wants his new-ish friends to hear, anyways.

  “—from _that_. Anyways, I called Patrick for some reassurances and apologies for breaking promises, and to tell him the Trouble-Of-The-Day—which happened to be me having a difficult time figuring out if people were lying when they say they cared.” Pete held up his hand at the onslaught of protests from his friends, silencing them before they could continue to say how much they care about him, along with other meaningful crap.

  “Look, I _know_ people care, but I sometimes get into funks where nothing is going right, or someone says a little back handed comment, and I just _wonder_ , okay? So as I was saying, I had told Patrick I didn't think anyone cared, and he began to just tell me all these really nice things until finally he just said 'Pete, I'm in love with you'.”

  “But how does all of that tie in with you hanging up the phone instead of responding?” Tyler urges, and Pete slouches even more in his seat.

  “As mentioned, I sometimes have trouble believing people, so after what I just told Patrick, I sat there in silence wondering if he was just trying to make me feel better, or if he was being serious. In the end, I hung up the phone because my bandage had fell off and I was dripping blood every—”

  “Pete!” Mikey warns this time, trying not to look sick for his friend's sake. Mikey will gladly sit here and listen to Pete's problems and offer support, but he can't hide the fact that the image of Pete bleeding all over the place doesn't scare him.

  Pete looks chastised and nods, once more realizing he shouldn't go into detail about that sort of thing. One look around the table was enough to see that it was _clearly_ triggering Tyler's anxiety, and breaking everyone else's hearts.

  “I'm sorry!” Pete gasps, closing his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing, “I had to fix my bandages right away, and clean up in case someone barged into the bathroom, and doing so was hard to do when holding a phone—so, I just told Patrick goodbye and hung up.”

  “You do realize,” Tyler starts in a small voice, “that after the problems you told Patrick and then suddenly saying goodbye...you do realize how that would sound, right?” Pete's eyes get wide but Tyler continues. “Not only could he have thought that you were going to...hurt yourself more, but he could have figured that him loving you wasn't enough to make you stay alive.”

  “Holy shit, Tyler!” Gerard yells, causing Tyler to cower into Josh's side.

  “What? All I'm saying is that if Josh was doing everything Pete had, and then says goodbye after I tell him how I feel? Call me a Negative Nelly, but I would assume that was a _final_ goodbye, and that I wasn't enough to help him.” Josh's face drains of colour as he quickly wraps an arm around Tyler, who began quivering from head to toe.

  “Well, Christ, you can't just say things like that, you could trigger him again!” Gerard remarks, in a bit of a lighter tone. Pete just grunts and shakes his head before Tyler could apologize.

  “No, Tyler could be right. Patrick tried calling all night long, and I never answered.” Pete lets out a frustrated groan as he digs his phone from his pocket and hoists his backpack on his shoulder before standing. “I've got to find him and explain everything— _fuck,_ I'm an idiot!”

  “No, Pete, please don't beat yourself up over it,” Brendon begs, grabbing Pete's bag as his friend turns away. “Just go get Patrick and explain things, don't let this make things worse for you.” The five minute bell rings as Pete turns back to Brendon with a sad smile.

  “I'm sure nothing could get worse than this.” It is a mostly half-hearted statement, but Pete is sure there is some truth to what he said. So, to test out his theory, he turns on his heel and moves against the current of people trying to get to their lockers or classrooms. By the time the room is devoid of people, the group of friends are still at their seats, and Pete had already vanished in the now-heavy rain.

  “Norther Downpour sends it's love, Pete,” Brendon murmurs, watching as the rain slams angrily into the ground, hoping the clouds will offer mercy on his two frightened friends.

  “Come on, hun,” Dallon murmurs, prompting Brendon and then the others to follow him to the lockers.

 

* * *

 

**Pete Wentz—8:15 AM—same day—the school parking lot**

  The rain is much more intimidating that it was in the building, where the roof and constant chatter of students muffled the rain pummeling the ground. Pete sloshes through the heavy downpour, already soaked to the bone and shivering hard as the sky projectile vomits on him.

  Pete can't see four feet in front of his face, as every car around him is a looming black silhouette in a grey veil of rain. Looking for Patrick in this mess is futile, and Pete knows that he'd never be able to type his friend's number with the rain drenching him the way it is. Lighting rushes through the clouds above Pete, and he stares up to watch as the cloud's blue-white veins of electricity crackle and disappear.

  “One, two—” Thunder rumbles hard and loud around Pete before he could count anymore, and he spits water from his mouth as he trudges through puddles and around vehicles in search of a place of shelter to call Patrick. He hears the sound of chickens squawking, and follows the sound to the large silhouette of the agricultural barn next to the school.

  Lightning flickers across the sky once more, casting an eerie light beyond the school, causing the building to look more ominous than it really is. Pete couldn't even get out the word “one” before thunder clambers for his attention; the storm is upon him.

  Pete scuttles over the wooden fence that keeps the barn animals from roaming. The wobbling structure and the rain whipping his hair into his eyes are two factors that cause Pete to topple over; he lands into some suspicious smelling mud. Then, when he scrambles off the ground and to the barn's entrance, he is relieved to know the only spectators of his embarrassing fall were a Jersey cow, a handful of hens, and two uninterested sheep.

  With a heavy sigh, Pete palms his hair out of his face as he trots past the animals' stalls and over to a pile of square bales of hay. He climbs up them and sits down, dropping his bag onto his lap, wondering if he should open it and see the misfortune the storm had done to his notebooks. Just as he is about to wipe rain water off of his phone so he could call Patrick, he hears someone clear their throat.

  “What are you doing in here?” Pete lets out a scream of surprise and nearly topples off the bales of hay and into the sheep's pin. The two inhabitants eye him wearily as Pete whips his head around, looking for the source of the voice. “Up here, dingus.”

  “Patrick?” Pete asks, looking up to the voice to see Patrick hidden up in the loft, next to a sack of feed and a small space heater he stole from the chickens. Patrick, though wet and still a bit puffy-eyed, seemed amused as he points to the blue barrels he had climbed up to get into the loft.

  Slipping and sliding, Pete scuttles up the plastic barrels with Patrick's vocal help on where to put his feet. Within no time, Pete is sitting next to Patrick, holding his hands close to the space heater.

  “Don't you think the cocks need this back?” Pete asks lightly, unsure of where to begin with his conversation. Patrick lets out a very soft laugh and then a small sniffle.

  “Those are hens, Pete, and I don't suppose so. They were sharing with the cow when I got in here, so I just took it and the extension cord for myself.” True to his word, Pete finds that the chickens were nestled in front of the cow's stall, sitting on and around the cow's own space heater and the dirty orange extension cord.

  Pete momentarily wonders who gave the animals space heaters in the first place, and when. Then, as he feels his finger tips nearly burning from the heat, he decides he doesn't care. The caretaker deserves all of Pete's appreciation as the teen flips his hands to dry the other side.

  “Good idea,” Pete murmurs, and then the two sit in silence save for the occasional sniffle or the bleating of a cold sheep. After what seemed like a thousand more thunder claps, Pete decides the storm is never letting up, so he sits back on the heels of his hands and relaxes, ignoring the loose straw and splinters of wood digging into his palms.

  “I wasn't thinking last night, Patrick,” Pete murmurs. He doesn't elaborate, because he wasn't thinking during _any_ action he partook in, but he knows Patrick would pick up on what he was saying.

  “I know you weren't, Pete.” Patrick responds in a whisper, and Pete could barely hear him over the sound of the rain peppering the barn's tin roof like small bullets. The cow grunts from it's stall, swishing it's tail to swat flies, as though the creature needed to hear an explanation; both of the boys were ready to oblige.

  “I hung up on you because I didn't believe you when you said you were in love with me,” Pete admits, staring transfixed at the orange glow from the space heater. “At first, I though you were just trying to make me feel better after I told you all that junk about people caring. I hung up because I needed to clean up and fix my bandages, too. I just needed time to clean myself up and think.”

  Pete is met with only the natural sounds around him, and the whirring of the heater. Pete turns his head to the left to look at Patrick, waiting for a response. His friend sits with his knees to his chest, eyes focused on the pattern he was drawing onto the dirty floor with a stray piece of moldy straw. Pete notices tears in his friend's eyes, and he can't blame him for it.

  “I didn't mean for my goodbye to sound final, 'Trick. I was just hanging up the phone. Hell, I didn't even realize you thought I—well, _you_ _know_. I didn't realize until Tyler mentioned it to me. Please forgive me,” Pete begs gloomily, sitting up and hanging his head. Water dribbles down the side of his temple and into his eyes at the same moment Patrick places a hand over one of Pete's.

  “I know,” Patrick finally responds, his voice thick. “I'm sorry for getting so angry and stuff this morning—I was just scared, and then when I realized you made it out okay, I just felt really offended that you didn't tell me how you were holding up. I forgive you, though, Pete.”

  “Do you still...still love me?” Pete asks shakily, almost scared to ask it. Tears spring into his eyes and fall down his cheeks, mingling with the rain water as Patrick leans over and hugs him.

  “How could I not? I've loved you since sixth grade, honestly,” Patrick laughs. “There was something really love-worthy about the way you snuck a stolen Twinkie into my lunch pail when you thought I wasn't looking.” Pete throws his head back as he laughs, barely remembering that he had even done such a thing. He wipes the silly tears out of his eyes, thinking back to all of the stolen snacks.

  He had known Patrick since third grade, and was always leaving his friend random surprises—snacks, quarters, even shitty drawings. Pete had no idea that Patrick ever saw him, because the boy always acted shocked when he opened his lunch pail or backpack to find the daily surprise.

  “That's when you fell in love with me?” Pete asks, feeling warm for more reasons than just the heater. Patrick pulls his head off of Pete's slowly drying shoulder and nods, looking much happier than when he left the cafeteria.

  “I think so. I mean, I may have always had friend-love for you, but I knew from the moment I saw that thieved cake that you were a keeper.” Patrick's tone is teasing and light, but his words are true. Pete nods as if this made sense.

  “I knew from the first moment you said hello that _you_ were a keeper,” Pete admits, and Patrick looks confused.

  “In _third grade_?” Patrick asks, raising a brow. Pete scoffs.

  “Of course. Why else would I risk my ass and steal snacks from the lunch line, or from the teacher's special stash of candy?” Patrick drops his head onto Pete's shoulder as he laughs, and Pete grins broadly.

  As Patrick finally calms down, he urges Pete to take off his Jacket so they could work on getting it dried out. When Pete wiggles his arms from his sleeves, he winces at the soggy bandages beginning to peel from his wrists. He is nearly frantic when he sees this, hoping Patrick won't freak out or fall into a bad mood again, but he does just the opposite. With a small, concerned sigh, Patrick convinces Pete to unravel the bandages.

  “I carry around a first aid kit,” Patrick admits sheepishly, unzipping his bag and pulling out one of those really small, travel-intended first aid kits. Opening it up, he reveals two rolls of fresh medical wraps, a little box of band aids, an ointment of some type, and several different pain killers. Pete wearily forces the soaked bandages over his hands, and shamefully looks away as he holds out his arms for Patrick to doctor up.

  “You gotta stop breaking your promise, Pete,” Patrick murmurs, observing the two semi-fresh wounds on Pete's arms. The one on his left arm was a bit deeper than the other, but it had already began scabbing over, so Patrick doesn't comment on it.

  “I'll try,” Pete replies, even though that's what he said last time. However, this time he will definitely try harder, because he is so tired of the disappointment in Patrick's eyes every time he bandages his friend up.

  “You're all finished,” Patrick says, though the thunder rattling the roof drowns out his words. Pete pulls his arms to wrap around his knees as Patrick puts away his first aid kit.

  “Hey, uh, Pete?” Patrick asks as he zips his bag. Pete smiles a little.

  “Yeah, 'Trick?”

  “Wanna, uh, be my boyfriend-thing?”

  “I'd love to be your boyfriend-thing.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  The two sit in the loft with goofy smiles, warming up by the space heater. Well, they were warming up, until all of the space heaters suddenly died, and their orange glow fades the barn into black.

  The only sounds Pete receive are the whistling wind and angry thunder, along with Patrick muttering an “Ah, nuts!” at their misfortune.

 

* * *

 

**Brendon—9:50 AM—lockers, heading to second period**

 Lights shut down with a heavy click, and people freeze where they are, listening to the storm violently fighting for attention. Then, within minutes, red lights blink to life, one in each hallway. Classrooms and the gymnasium stay lit only by the lightning streaking outside their windows.

  Suddenly, the hallway is filled with terrified screams—mostly from girls or the 9th and 10th graders. Girls shuffle close together and link arms, and students shift down the hallway with wails about how they [the school board] shouldn't have allowed students to come to school if there was risk for a flash flood. With the red lights casting everyone into darkened silhouettes scampering blindly down the hall, and the complaints and moans rising in irritated whispers, Brendon could almost swear he was actually in an apocalyptic horror film, rather than a school corridor.

  “Oh, man, this looks like something out of a scary movie!” Gerard declares in a conspiring tone as he slams his locker shut. Brendon jumps at the sound, and blushes when Dallon notices and wraps him in a protective hug.

  “For real!” Frank says excitedly, looking psyched as he bobs from one foot to the other, holding his bag of fresh gym clothes; not that he will need them, now, since they probably won't be having classes today.

  “You should totally write a new comic,” Mikey jokes, and Gerard's eyes light up in excitement before he yanks his phone out of his jacket pocket.

  “Holy fuck, good idea!” Gerard runs a hand through his platinum hair before taking several pictures up and down the hallway—references for later. A few students glare at Gerard like he is crazy, while others assume he is taking pictures to send to the local news station like a few other teenagers are doing. Tyler looks uneasily at his surroundings, the only other person aside from Brendon who realizes this is fucking scary.

  “The last time the power went out while I was having class,” Tyler begins, scooting impeccably closer between Josh and Dallon, “I was in the sixth grade and still home schooled; mom let Zacky and I read books next to a lantern until the storm was over.”

  “'Zacky?'” Josh asks, giggling. Tyler scowls at him, his face turning red.

  “Heck, don't tell him I used that name, he'd kill me.”

  “Then why'd you use it?” Josh retorts, poking his soulmate in the side. Tyler squirms away with a laugh.

  “Because I used to call him that when he was little—well, when we were both little, I guess. I was remembering a time when I was young, and I just really got into it. Don't mock me!”

  “Tyler, you're still young,” Frank says sarcastically, reaching forward to pinch Tyler's cheek; with the shitty darkness screwing up his visual perception, he ends up missing and grabs Tyler's ear instead.

  “Lemme go!” Tyler yelps, letting out a loud barking laugh that his friends have never heard before. Tyler finds the ear grabbing to be such a funny experience that his eyes are squeezed shut and he is nearly doubled over with his strange staccato laughter. Tyler laughing so hard triggers his friends into laughing as well, until they are all breathless and look like idiots, especially because they forgot why they were laughing in the first place.

  Soon, teachers begin milling about, telling students to make their way to the gym, cafeteria, or library. Apparently they want to keep all the students together to avoid anymore teens from freaking out. Frank puts his bag of clothes in Gerard and Mikey's locker before happily following his group of friends to wherever they lead him.

  With Dallon in the lead (because he is tall and his silhouette easy to spot), the group meander down the hall, holding onto each other's hands, shirts, or bags to get to the library.

  When they reach the library, they find a comfortable corner to hide in. The library was devoid of the strange, red emergency lights, for which Brendon is oddly thankful for. He lies down on the floor, his head in Dallon's lap as he listens to his friends chat around him. He feels his nerves calm down when Dallon begins playing with his hair, much like he had done the night before.

  Gerard—who had been using his phone's flashlight as he scribbles down the apocalyptic-hallway idea—lets out a delighted sound when he reads something from his notification bar. He waves his phone around in triumph, more or less shining his flashlight in everyone's eyes as he does so.

  “Look who made up with each other!” Gerard says in a sing song voice, flailing his phone around to show the group chat. Immediately, everyone begins pulling out their phones to see for themselves.

 

* * *

 

**8:40 AM, same day**

–

_Users_ **ThnksPt** _and (_ **1** _) others have been permitted to join the chat again. For more options, refer_ **here** _._

–

**10:03 AM**

_User_ **I.Dont.Care** _changed their name to_ **Stolen_Snacks**

  


**Stolen_Snacks** : help, the chickens are mad I took their heater

  


**Gerard Way:** I have no words

  


**xofrnk:** tf? Was that some sort of secret code

  


**Bren_Done:** gasp! You know stealing is wrong!

  


**ThnksPt:** you guys are being unhelpful!!!11!!!1

 **ThnksPt:** chicken is beam itching me 2 dare

  


**Tyler Joseph:** ????????????

  


**Joshua Dun:** I'm gonna need a lot of alcohol to make sense of theses messages

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** Pete, I'm assuming that was auto correct?

 **Stolen_Snacks:** to get you guys up to speed, Chickens started chasing Pete when he was dumb enough to climb down the loft

 **Stolen_Snacks:** he was attempting to see why all the heaters went off when a nesting hen thought he was coming for her eggs

 **Stolen_Snacks:** I shouldn't be laughing, but I am.

  


**Bren_Done:** where the actual fuck are you guys?

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** in the barn.

  


**Mikey Way:** I'll ask the question everyone's dying to know:

 **Mikey Way:** why on god's green earth are you Used Kleenexes in the school's barn?

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** Pete wanted to hang out with his own kind

  


**ThnksPt:** SOMEONE GET THIS FUCKING CHICKEN BEFORE I SPIT ROAST HER AND EAT HER IN FRONT OF HER FRIENDS

  


**xofrnk:** that is fucking disgusting man

 **xofrnk:** and the word spit roast sounds like some innuendo for cock sucking

  


**ThnksPt:** I'M ABOUT TO BE COCK SUCKING: SLURPING THIS CHICKEN'S FLESH RIGHT OFF IT'S BONES

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** Pete, I've told you—that is a female chicken. Only the males are considered “cocks”.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** okay, but for real...why are you guys in the barn?

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** I came up here because it was starting to rain really hard, and I didn't know where to go

 **Stolen_Snacks:** it was already raining like hell when Pete stumbled in

  


**Tyler Joseph:** am I allowed to assume things are better between you two?

  


**ThnksPt:** NOT IF HE LETS ME GET EATEN BY THIS FUCKING CHICKEN

  


**xofrnk:** I don't think chickens eat meat?

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** If I tell you Pete is my boyfriend, does that answer your question, Ty?

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Awh yiss! I'm glad everything worked out!

  


**Bren_Done:** thank Dallon, I was worried the chat suspension would make it harder for you two to communicate.

  


**Dallon Weekes:** Congrats, I'm glad things are better now- aside from Pete getting eaten, that is.

 **Dallon Weekes:** (Also, B, you're welcome...but why'd you say “Thank Dallon”?)

  


**Joshua Dun:** Congrats for making up! And Pete, try kicking it, maybe it will go away?

  


**xofrnk:** DON'T KICK THAT FUCKING CHICKEN

 **xofrnk:** JUST STAY AWAY FROM HER NEST, AND YOU WON'T GET FLOGGED

  


**Bren_Done:** (because you are my god)

  


**Dallon Weekes:** (that's all I am?)

  


**Gerard Way:** (He called you god, what else could you be)

  


**Bren_Done:** (he's ma daddy too)

  


**Joshua Dun:** (I'M SCREAMING GOOD B YE)

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** Pete's screaming too, lol

  


**ThnksPt:** ALL OF THE CHICKENS ARE CHASING ME

  


**xofrnk:** THEY HEARD YOU SAY YOU WERE GONNA SUCK THEIR SISTER'S COCK

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I'M TOO INNOCENT TO BE HEARING THIS

  


**Bren_Done:** liar liar pants on fire, you love blow jobs even though you're a minor!

  


**Mikey Way:** holy shit, brendank knows how to rhyme!

  


**Tyler Joseph:** I WILL THROAT PUNCH YOU

  


**Bren_Done:** after you get throat punched by josh? (if ya know what I mean)

 **Bren_Done:** if you didn't, I was implying he was throat fucking you

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** we got it, Bren. Thank you so kindly for traumatizing me.

  


**Joshua Dun:** (STILL SCREAMING?????)

  


**Tyler Joseph:** would you look at the time? I have to go because [insert some generic excuse here]

  


**ThnksPt** _is typing…_

  


**ThnksPt:** hello, this is an A.I unit informing you that your dearly beloved friend has been eaten by a cock.

 **ThnksPt:** all of his belongings will be buried with him, because none of you fucking saved him

 **ThnksPt:** good day.

 **ThnksPt:** THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF DESTRUCT IN 5

 **ThnksPt:** 4

 **ThnksPt:** 3

 **ThnksPt:** 2

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** I can see you alive and well, sitting next to me in the loft

 **Stolen_Snacks:** and this is the last time I am going to tell you:

 **Stolen_Snacks:** THAT IS A HEN, ONLY MALES ARE CALLED “COCKS”.

  


**ThnksPt:** 1

 **ThnksPt:** aw man, u ruined the chain

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** uhm

 **Stolen_Snacks:** KA-BOOM?

 

* * *

 

**Brendon—10:23 AM, same day**

  The boys stifle their laughter behind their hands as they type furiously back and forth in the chat. Frank is still going off on a rant—something about “save the chickens; end the Pete”—and Tyler is still throwing shady glances at Brendon for the joke he told.

  Some of the boys continue to send texts to the chat to keep up with Pete and Patrick, until Mikey declares that his phone is almost dead. He eventually nags at everyone else to get off of their phones with him, so he wouldn't be alone, much to everyone's irritation.

  “Who cares if _you_ get bored? You don't have to drag everyone else down too,” Gerard mutters, but brightens up a bit when Frank crawls into his lap to show him a picture he had been drawing in first period (it was of a mouse, and though Frank wasn't too encouraged by it, Gerard had given him a very enthusiastic response).

  “I'm all alone here, man. Everyone else has phones and boyfriends—” Mikey glances at Tyler and Josh. “—And soul mates. You douche nozzles can't just make me the be 9th wheel of this gay ass car.”

  “Well, you need a boyfriend, then. Or girlfriend, soul mate, cat—I dunno, your pick,” Brendon decides, waving his hands in the air to accent his point. Mikey cringes a bit at the thought, his face going a bit pink.

  “Ew, no thanks. You all look like horny morons curled up in each other's laps.” Mikey scrunches up his nose as his friends look around at each other. It's true; Brendon still has his head on Dallon's thigh, Josh and Tyler's legs are knotted together as they sit against a bookshelf, Frank still occupies Gerard's lap, and Mikey is _sure_ Pete and Patrick are wrapped up next to a cow or something.

  “You're just jealous!” Tyler huffs, running his tongue across the scab on his lip, where Ryan had hit him yesterday. Josh notices and pinches Tyler's arm, muttering something about how he is going to re-open the wound.

  “Yeah, alright,” Mikey snorts sarcastically. Bored of the conversation, Brendon waves his hand in the dark room to get attention.

  “Guys, we should have a sleep over at my house tonight, and skip school tomorrow.” Brendon says this with pride, as if this was a wonderful idea. He couldn't see it, but his friends are staring at him as if he has lost his fucking mind.

  “I haven't been to class in two fucking days, now,” Frank snorts, running his hands over the drawing he could no longer see.

  “I didn't peg you to be a goody-goody, Frankie,” Brendon teases, speaking in a high pitched voice than makes Frank cringe.

  “You aren't allowed to call me that. Ever.” Frank grunts, squinting at his friend.

  “A goody-goody or Frankie?”

  “ _Neither_.”

  “Okay, back to the sleep over thing,” Dallon says, calling attention for his boyfriend. Brendon smiles up at Dallon's shadowy face, appreciative.

  “Oh yeah!” Brendon sits up as if this is an urgent matter. “I still have a few days until my parents come home, and I'm not gonna lie—the house is pretty barren.” Brendon doesn't admit that he is scared of the dark, and equally afraid of being alone in that house if the power goes out there, too. His friends sense this without him saying anything; from how skittish he became once the lights went out here, it didn't take a genius to deduce he was a bit uncomfortable in the dark.

  “Well, I don't know if my mom will agree, but I'm down,” Tyler murmurs, already thinking of an excuse to give his mother.

  “The news report had said this morning there was a flood warning—maybe we could tell our parents that Brendon has a basement we can sit in if something happens?” Gerard suggests, and Mikey laughs.

  “You fucking moron, you go to basements if there is a _tornado_. You want to get up to higher ground if there is a flood!”

  Mikey dodges his brother's fist.

  “Then we can tell them Brendon has an attic or something,” Gerard huffs. “Maybe we can tell them we want to stick together so Brendon isn't alone and scared, or something.” Brendon makes an offended squeaking noise, especially when everyone begins to agree.

  “Now that is a better plan,” Josh says, pointing a finger in the direction of Gerard. “I can tell my mom about his parents being out of town, and that he is scared of thunderstorms.”

  “Dude!” Brendon complains, his face becoming hot. Josh raises his hands in surrender as everyone giggles.

  “And if the power really does go out, we can just bring flashlights and sleeping bags, and camp out in the living room,” Dallon adds, his left hand finding Brendon's. “I dunno what we are going to do about food though. Brendon has been surviving on ice cream from the park and school lunches.”

  Frank snorts at that, but puts in his two-cents of planning, as well. “We can all just hit up the 99 cent store, and buy snacks from there—nothing that needs to go in the fridge, though. I'm sure if we get some two-liter sodas, they should be fine sitting on the counter...just a little flat.”

  “If the power goes off and it rains all night, how the frick are we going to stay warm, though?” Tyler argues, leaning forward.

  “I've got two space heaters that run on batteries—batteries that we can pick up from the store, just in case,” Brendon says, tilting his head. “I also have this portable phone charger...thing, that _also_ takes batteries, so it's not like we won't be able to get in touch with anyone if something _does_ happen to the power.”

  “Looks like I'm skipping school tomorrow,” Tyler sighs, shaking his head. Brendon beams at all of his friends, each one seeming totally down to spend time with each other.

  “Someone should text Pete and Patrick, and ask if they want to stay over as well,” Brendon suggests, and Gerard takes his phone out to do so.

 

* * *

 

**Patrick—10:50 AM, same day**

  Patrick reads the plan Gerard had sent him out loud to Pete, who just grunts as he rubs the ointment from Patrick's first aid kit on a cut he received from the chicken.

  “As long as there aren't any goddamn chickens at Bren's house, I'll go.” Pete nurses another, much smaller cut, wincing as he recalls the powerful flap of wings, the _Bok-Boking_ of fellow chickens, and the tell-tale sound of Patrick laughing in the loft.

  “Brendon doesn't seem like the type of person to keep chickens in his house, even if he is a barn animal himself,” Patrick sasses, peering over the light of his phone to check on Pete. Honestly, Pete didn't even get hurt that badly—maybe two or three cuts, along with a few nicks here and there. However, he insists that his arm is going to fall off because—and I quote—“I'm going to catch Chicken Pox”.

  Patrick had tried to reassure him that his arm wasn't going to fall off, and that he is about 50% sure you can't catch Chicken Pox from an angry mother-hen, but Pete wasn't consoled. What does Patrick know? He isn't a doctor. So, Patrick made the mistake of agreeing with Pete, telling him not to touch his arm when it falls off, or his other limb will fall off as well.

  Because of that, Pete is now acting like a sullen child, checking every few seconds to make sure his arm wasn't suddenly missing.

  “How are you holding up?” Patrick asks tentatively, leaning over so he could get a look at the thin, angry red line on Pete's elbow. Pete must see this as an opportunity to receive pity, so he lets out a hard sniffle and a sad shrug.

  “S'okay,” He whimpers, giving Patrick huge puppy-dog eyes.

  “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Patrick asks, and though he knows that Pete isn't as hurt as he is pretending to be, the younger teen feels guilty for laughing during the chicken fiasco.

  “Well, in story books, the authors always say that true loves kiss makes _everything_ better.” Okay, so maybe Pete was hamming it up a bit _too_ much, but you can't blame a guy for trying.

  “You think it will help?” Patrick inquires, trying his damnedest to keep a straight face as he says this.

  “I _know_ it will help.” Pete fake-sniffles again for added measure.

  “Alright, stay still,” Patrick demands softly, and Pete's heart begins to race. Hell, he didn't think Patrick would actually go with it, but Pete has no intentions on turning back now. Patrick sets his phone on the floor between them, and the light shines up, illuminating his hooded eyes and soft smile as he begins to lean forward.

  Pete stays absolutely still, not because Patrick asked him to, but because he is frozen in...what? Fear? That doesn't seem like the word for it. Perhaps anticipation? For whatever reason it is that Pete is frozen to the spot, the only thing he can think about is whether or not Patrick can see how red Pete's face becomes as the boy leans closer and closer.

  Patrick's mouth is a breath away from Pete's before the strawberry-blond pauses. Patrick's breath hits Pete's face, and he can distinctly smell mint and vanilla, for whatever reason; Pete suddenly becomes vaguely dizzy, and his blood throbs so hard in his ears that it drowns out a thunder clash. Pete can feel Patrick's nose nearly pressing against his, can _almost_ feel the tingle of his lips. Pete's eyes flutter closed, and then...

  Patrick turns his head and kisses Pete's cheek instead.

  All of the air in Pete's body rushes out of him, and his eyes fly open, absolutely wounded. Patrick leans back, seemingly satisfied as he picks his phone up and continues his conversation about the sleep over. Pete's heart continues to hammer in his chest, but Patrick didn't even notice.

  “Patrick!” Pete whines, dragging out the vowels longer than necessary. Patrick makes a humming noise before sending his text, and then looks up to see Pete pouting for real now.

  “Yes?” Patrick responds, still trying to keep a straight face. Pete's shoulders sag and his bottom lip juts out even further.

  “Is that all I get?” Pete simpers, and Patrick raises a brow.

  “What more could you want?” Patrick asks innocently, and Pete lets out an exaggerated sigh.

  “I mean, we could, you know, kiss on the mouth—if you want to? I wouldn't mind at all, I think it would be a great idea. Your lips look kind of soft, and I guess, uh, it would—” Patrick interrupts Pete's rambling by leaning forward once more, stunning the boy into silence when he _actually_ presses his lips to Pete's.

  Pete's lowed lip was sandwiched between Patrick's mouth, and as the boy pulls away, he grazes Pete's lip with his teeth before letting go—then, he opens his new text with a quick “You talk too much”.

  Pete has kissed people before, he's not going to lie. But this suddenly feels like his very first kiss, and he couldn't stop from bringing his hand to his mouth. He rests the side of his index finger to his lower lip, his mind tingling much the same way his mouth is. Was that a clash of thunder, or his heart beating right out of his chest?

  Patrick looks up in time to see Pete lowering his head, a goofy smile tucking back his cheeks. He takes note of how red Pete's face is, and how much his attitude has improved; it may have even made Patrick blush a bit as well, to know he was capable of silencing Pete.

  “You alright?” Patrick asks, and Pete looks up shyly, still smiling that adorable, mousy smile he reserves only for special occasions—Patrick feels lucky.

  “Fantastic,” Pete says, and his eyes are so adoring that Patrick has to look back at his phone before he flings himself at Pete once more.

  “So, uh,” Patrick starts, giving his phone a flustered grin. “The guys have snuck out of the school and want to head over to Brendon's, now. Think it's a good idea?” Lighting lights up the barn, causing the animals to cast long, unearthly shadows across the wall, before it goes dark again. Then, thunder rumbles around the building and the wind picks up, as if challenging the boys to leave their sanctuary.

  “Of course it's a good idea,” Pete snorts, ignoring the sounds of dangerous weather. He then leans over the loft to peer down at the animals. The nesting hen is tucked safely away in the wooden crate Pete had earlier made the mistake of going towards; she seems to be fast asleep.

  “That's great, because the boys are heading towards the barn.” With that said, the couple scramble to get their things together. After Pete slips his jacket on, he absconds down the barrels and holds a hand out to Patrick, to help him down. Patrick jumps off the shortest barrel, landing in the stream of water that had begun flooding the barn; murky water splashes up into his jeans, soaking him from the knees down.

  “Come on,” Pete urges, looking at the chickens around them, lying fat and unbothered by their presence. Who knows, maybe they are relieved the two teenagers are finally leaving their barn. They stand in the barn's opening, and when a streak of lighting rockets across the sky, they can make out seven human shapes standing huddled together against the harsh weather, on the other side of the fence.

  With a deep sigh, Patrick tilts his head down and plunders forth. What Patrick notices first isn't actually the rain, like one might expect. No, it's the gales of wind pushing him from all sides, demanding to be be noticed. His ears pop as if someone suddenly lowered the pressure, and he swears as he raises a hand to dig at his ear.

  Pete and Patrick both have a difficult time climbing the fence, but luckily, their waterlogged friends help them over without mishap. Dallon had let his friends store their bags in his car before they all trudged to the barn, and he tells Patrick and Pete that he intends on driving.

  Inside Dallon's vehicle, its cramped and everyone has someone else's elbow in their ribs, and a few people were camped out in the floor boards. However, it was warm and dry with the heater blasting on their faces, so no one complains. They can't get any radio stations to pick up, so Dallon sticks in a Green Day CD and they all sing (more like scream) along to the songs. When “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” lulls through the speakers, Pete begins to wail about how emo this song is, and how emo he is, and other nonsense that have the others laughing so hard that more elbows get put into more ribs.

  When they get to the 99 cent store, they send Patrick and Tyler in with a wad of cash and a grocery list with smeared ink. It seemed like ages before the two boys get back to the car, each arm loaded with five bags a piece. Dallon quickly pops the trunk and watches them past his windshield wipers as they dart in front of the car, and around the back to put away their goods.

 

* * *

**Tyler—2:13 PM—Brendon's living room—same day**

  As it turns out, the power had been killed by the storm here, as it did nearly everywhere else in the county.

  The group of friends sit in a circle in the middle of the floor, the furniture pushed against the wall, and a cheap camping lantern in the center of them, illuminating their playing cards with a tired, white light. They had each dropped by their houses to scrounge up clean clothes—for the few boys who ran across their parents, they came up with some white lie that school had let out early. Tyler now sits with his favourite blanket tugged around his shoulders, clad in a clean pair of black sweatpants, some bright red socks, and a floral T-shirt.

  The rain always made Tyler sleepy, and he stares blearily at the cards in his hands, wondering if he was dealt with a good hand or not. Tyler is no good at Texas Hold 'Em, and decides to fold during his final round; as expected, he won none of the candy piled around the lantern, and it instead goes to Frank, who looks rather smug.

  “Well, that's one round for Patrick, two rounds for Dallon, and six for Frank. Wanna go again, or do something else?” Mikey asks, looking over the sheet of paper he is putting neat tally marks onto. Pete gathers everyone's cards and places them back in the box, grinning.

  “You'll never believe what I bought last week,” Pete declares, and everyone looks at him rather wearily; that's almost never a good thing to hear. “So, I bought a shit ton of makeup from Walgreen's—along with some temporary tattoos—and I am forcing you all to participate with me.”

  That is how Tyler finds Josh coming at him with an eyeliner pencil, not even five minutes later.

  “Oh my god, you're gonna poke my eye out!” Tyler yelps, jerking away when Josh rests his hand on Tyler's neck to hold him in place.

  “Ty, come on, would I poke you in the eye?” Josh snorts, leaning forward to place the side of his hand under Tyler's eye. Tyler holds his breath and looks up as Josh puts the sharpened pencil against Tyler's lower waterline.

  “It's easier to look straight at the person,” Gerard comments from next to Tyler, allowing Frank to put eyeliner on him, as well. “Everyone says to 'look up', but it just sort of itches and basically makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.”

  “How would that be easier?” Tyler retorts, pulling away to rest his watering eye. Josh waits patiently for Tyler to open his eyes again.

  “Well, if you are putting it on _yourself_ —more likely than not you are staring straight ahead into a mirror.” Gerard says, and then, just like that, Frank caps the pencil and looks around at the mess of beauty products to figure out what he wants to do next. Tyler lets out a huff and gives Josh a skeptical once over.

  “I dunno, I'm not really interested in w _atching myself get poked in the eye_.” Tyler hisses, and immediately stills when Josh goes in to apply another layer; from all that blinking Tyler had done, the cheap product had seemingly disappeared. Taking Gerard's advice, Tyler looks at Josh, focusing on his soul mate's concentration, rather than the little splinter of wood that is poking Tyler's sensitive skin.

  Soon enough, Josh finishes the other eye and then grabs a small makeup brush to apply some eyeshadow. Next to them, Gerard laughs when Frank puts royal blue eyeshadow on Gerard's eyelid, thinking it was black. Beyond them, Patrick is arguing with Pete on whether or not green would look good on Pete, and Brendon has managed to smudge the perfect winged eyeliner that Dallon worked so hard on. Mikey sits alone in the corner with a mirror he stole from Brendon, applying his own make up even though the others had offered to do it for him; he doesn't want their grubby hands anywhere _near_ his eyes or mouth.

  Tyler closes his eyes upon Josh's prompting, allowing him to swipe a makeup brush full of white product onto his eyelids. Josh gradually moves up to darker colours, staying withing a monochromatic colour scheme. After managing to perfectly add false eyelashes to Tyler's flinching eyes, the boy had some how managed to do a damned-near perfect smoky eye.

  “Damn, Tyler looks fierce!” Gerard declares, staring wide eyed past his ridiculously long falsies to get a look at Tyler.

  “I'm not done yet!” Josh barks, swatting Tyler's hands before he could reach for the mirror inside the compact container. Tyler grumbles and watches with suspicion as Josh finds a thinner, angled brush and swipes it into the hideously pigmented red blush.

  “I don't think that brush would cover very much,” Tyler decides, but jerks away for the millionth time when Josh nears his eyes. “Oh, hey! That's meant for your cheeks, not eyes!”

  “Ashley says it can go on your eyes, too. Now close 'em!” Josh demands. Tyler scowls but does as he is told while Josh does some weird thing where he goes around the black with the red dust. Tyler has no idea what is going on, and he doesn't know any of the technical terms, but Josh is sure he will appreciate it when he is done.

  Tyler opts to keep his eyes closed, and it's a good thing, too, because soon, a thin wet brush touches his eyelid.

  “I should have done this before the lashes, but I wanted to cover the glue,” Josh says, creating some mediocre wings with a burgundy liquid liner. When Josh finishes that, he goes all out and does Tyler's eyebrows as well. Just when Tyler thinks his soulmate is done, Josh rummages around for some lipstick and demands that Tyler opens his mouth.

  “Finished!” Josh says proudly, and Tyler grimaces when he closes his mouth; he hates how dry matte lipstick feels.

  “I wanna see!” Brendon cheers, and soon everyone is scrambling around Tyler to get a look at him. Faces full of grotesque beauty product swim in Tyler's vision, and he blanches. Patrick has a false eyelash glued to his cheek; Brendon is adorned with ugly black smudges on his left eye, from when he had smeared one of his wings; Gerard flaunts a mix of blue and black stamped on his eyelids; and Frank had taken it upon himself to draw big X's on his eyes with the eyebrow pencil. The others have yet to finish or put on makeup.

  “Josh, how the _fuck_ did you do so well?” Dallon gasps, and Josh's face burns under the lantern's pale glow.

   “Well, My sisters liked to play dress up when we were younger, and I sometimes played too,” Josh scratches the back of his head, before confessing, “I still let them put makeup on me every now and then, and I do theirs as well.”

  “Well, you did a damn good Job! Tyler fucking slays!” Frank snickers, leaning in to take a closer look at Tyler's eye makeup. “It's like...a fire kind of look, with all the red and stuff.”

  “I want to see, too,” Tyler complains, holding his hand out for a mirror. Mikey turns his around and Tyler purses his red lips when he catches a look at himself. Okay, maybe he didn't look _too_ bad. Tyler looks down bashfully, thinking that maybe, for once, he looks kind of okay. (This doesn't mean he is going to be wearing makeup again after tonight, though.)

  “You're always pretty, Ty,” Josh encourages, as if he heard what Tyler was thinking. Tyler snorts and looks away.

  “Oh, hush.” That's all Tyler could think of to say, and his friends titter in amusement.

  When everyone has done each other's makeup, they take shitty group selfies that Brendon swears up and down he is going to print off. Then comes the task of putting temporary tattoos on one another, so Patrick offers to be the one to get some washcloths and glasses of water. Tyler stands up to help him when Josh grabs his arm, demanding attention; Patrick waits patiently for Tyler.

  “I was serious,” Josh says, looking very feminine with his light pink lips and false eyelashes. “I think you're always beautiful. Just thought you should know.” Tyler's heart thumps in his chest, and to quickly hide his embarrassment, Tyler give Josh a wicked grin.

  “Thank you, right back at ya, _Daddy._ ” Tyler says airily. Then, Tyler turns on his heel and triumphantly walks through the archway into the kitchen, the sounds of his friends going “oHHHH” behind him.

  Josh stares after Tyler with unseeing eyes, his lips parted and his ears a dark shade of red.

  “Oh my god!” Brendon giggles, punching Josh in the shoulder. “You _totally_ have a daddy kink.”

  “Uh-huh,” Josh says distractedly, and Brendon leans forward to close Josh's open mouth. His friend giggle childishly, but Josh doesn't notice. His mind is in a different place, while he stares at the empty space his soulmate once occupied.

  However, in the kitchen, Tyler is gripping the edge of the sink and looking out the window, his eyes wide. “I can't believe I said that,” he rasps to the rain. Patrick chuckles as he fills a glass with water.

  “I don't think you saw his face after you said it, Tyler,” Patrick murmurs back, listening to the obnoxious giggles in the other room. “He seemed to have been totally into it.”

  “Really?” Tyler questions, peeking over at Patrick with curiosity. Patrick rolls his eyes and shrugs.

  “I mean, his face looked like he was into it, but that's something you talk about to him, first, before just randomly saying the word 'daddy' in the bedroom—”

  “Ahhh, don't finish that sentence!” Tyler yelps, blushing furiously as he hides his face in his hands. Patrick bites his lips to keep himself from laughing as he clanks around in the cupboard for another glass.

  “Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to assume,” Patrick snorts, and Tyler peaks through his fingers.

  “Assume what?”

  “That you and Josh were sexually active.” Patrick says this so blatantly that Tyler nearly threw up in the sink.

  “What makes you figure that?”

  “Well, I hate assuming things, but when Brendon asked if you and Josh have been sharing the same bed, and then teasing you about liking blow jobs, I just started connecting dots.” Patrick replies, shrugging as he searches through drawers for some rags. Tyler shakes his head, not stopping until he realizes Patrick wasn't even looking at him.

  “No, no. No sexual activity here, none at all. I am a good child of The Lord who waits until marriage. I have never had or given oral sex, and I _never, ever_ think about it. Like, gross, why would I think about it. Ew.” Tyler laughs nervously, and Patrick peers suspiciously at him.

  “Tyler, I kind of believe the first part, but definitely not the rest of it. Stop talking or you might embarrass yourself,” Patrick suggests sympathetically, knowing a liar when he sees one.

  “I'm already embarrassed,” Tyler groans, hiding his face again. Patrick laughs lightly and pats Tyler's shoulder.

  “Don't be, friend. Sexual fantasies are normal—” Tyler lets out a long winded shriek as Patrick begins to monologue about how masturbation and sex are natural activities, and that Tyler shouldn't feel ashamed about having either of them—especially when it involves someone he cares about. Tyler quickly decides Patrick can carry two glasses of water and some fabric by himself, and dashes back into the living room; he is still screaming.

  “Yeesh, what crawled up your ass and died?” Pete asks, watching as Tyler falls unceremoniously on top of Josh.

  “Uh, saw a spider?” Tyler lies, knowing that admitting to his friends that he almost gotten a sex talk from Patrick would be even more embarrassing than receiving it.

  “How? This house is darker than my asshole right now,” Brendon snorts, and Dallon flicks him in the ear.

  “Just let me lie to you guys in peace,” Tyler deadpans, and his friends begin to protest, wondering what the hell could have gotten Tyler to scream like that. Soon, Patrick comes into the room, balancing two cups and some rags in his arms.

  “I scared him by sharing personal information,” Patrick says, placing the loot onto the floor before sitting down. Tyler gives him a grumpy glare through his falsies, silently daring Patrick to continue.

  “What kind of personal information could scare this _nut_ that badly?” Mikey asks, but despite his tone, he reaches over and pats Tyler's shin in what is meant to be in a supportive manner.

  “I was just telling our dear child about the birds-and-the-bees,” Patrick admits in a parental sort of voice. Tyler gasps and sits up, squirming out of Josh's lap by doing so.

  “Wait, what makes you think _I'm_ the child of the group?”

  “You admitted yourself that Josh was your daddy,” Patrick says innocently, and the room erupts in another chorus of “oHHH”s.

  “Doesn't make me a _child_ , Patrick. It makes me _horny_.” Tyler sasses back, but he doesn't regret his words. His friends howl in laughter as Patrick thinks of something else to say.

  “Tyler, you _are_ a child, though! You're still a minor.”

  “A minor with a sweet ass,” Tyler winks, and finally Patrick begins to laugh as well.

  “I can't believe I'm hearing this,” Gerard wheezes, clutching his side. Who knew that Tyler—such a smol, innocent thing—would sit here and openly admit he is a horny teenager with a nice ass?

  “I can't believe I said it,” Tyler hums, thinking on it with a furrowed brow before he looks over at Josh. Josh is laughing too, but Tyler can see he is flustered by what Tyler has to say. Tyler reaches over and pats Josh's chest, giving him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Jish.”

  “There is _absolutely_ no reason to be sorry,” Josh says, his laughter finally dying. He looks at his soulmate in a way that Tyler has never been looked at before—hungrily, appreciatively, lustfully. Tyler gives him an equally intense stare, and soon enough, their friends notice.

  “Okay, okay, stop undressing each other with your eyes! Sex is bad for you!” Frank says, waving his hand between Josh and Tyler. The couple turn red and glance at Frank, who is practically radiating a mischievous energy.

–

**Tyler—2:50 PM, same day**

  Tyler receives a text message from his mom; she is asking when he will be coming home. Tyler panics a bit, wondering what he is to tell her. Tyler voices his concerns to the group, flashing his phone around like a lunatic.

  “Just tell her what we discussed earlier; Brendon is a pussy and can't stand thunderstorms,” Pete shrugs, hunched over the portable charger Brendon had lent him. Brendon launches a Jolly Rancher at his friend, who just grunts in response.

  Tyler takes a look out of the living room window to see that it is still raining with as much vehemence as this morning. With a nod, Tyler sends “ **I am gonna stay over at Brendon's with a few friends, because his parents aren't home and the power went out** ”. No sooner than he sent the text, though, his phone begins to ring.

  “Dude, you need to change your ring tone,” Mikey huffs, cringing as the song “funky town” shrieks from the phone's awful speakers. Tyler doesn't hear his friend's distaste over the sound of him panicking; his mother is calling. The phone fumbles in his hand as he thumbs random points of the screen until he answers the call. Putting a finger to his lips so his friends will know to stay quiet, he brings the phone to his ear.

   “Mom! Hey,” Tyler says breathlessly. His mother wastes no time in chewing him out.

  “ _Tyler Robert Joseph!_ ” His mother begins, and his friends look over with wide eyes when they hear her shrill voice. “How in God's name did you come to the conclusion that it was okay for you to go to your friend's house without telling me? And with his parents gone, no less!”

  “I just asked you over text if I could stay—” Tyler begins, but his mother lets out a humorless laugh.

  “You asked me no such thing! You made it very clear that you were staying, with or without my permission. You didn't even ask me if it was alright!” Tyler pulls his phone from his ear to check his messages, to see that he did, indeed, forget to ask if his mom was fine with it.

  “Well,” Tyler begins, sounding agitated. “I'm already over here. So unless you are going to drive out in this storm, I'm stuck here.” Patrick gasps from across the room, and hurries over.

  “Tyler,” Patrick whispers, poking the boy in his side. “Don't sass your mom, or you'll get in trouble!” He says this just as Tyler's mother begins to let out angry grunts.

  “Don't you _dare_ talk to me in that tone, young man. I'm just worried about you! You are staying in a house with no adult supervision, and the lights have gone out? You're going to freeze tonight! What if someone breaks in, and your phone is dead? Then you can't call the police!”

  “Mom. Mom. _Mom!_ ” Tyler barks, trying to get his mother to listen. She stops ranting for a moment to hear what her son has to say. “Mom, I'm going to put you on the phone with Patrick, because he's the one who planned this.”

  “I am _not_!” Patrick snarls, glaring at his friend. Tyler doesn't wait for his mom to answer as he shoves his phone into Patrick's hand. Their friends watch in amusement as Patrick tries giving it back to Tyler, the two of them pushing it into each other's hands like a quiet game of hot potato. Finally, when the two hear Tyler's mom say “Hello?”, Patrick gives in after sending Tyler the stink-eye.

  “Hello, Mrs. Joseph!” Patrick says cheerfully, standing up and then walking over to the window to look outside. Triumphant, Tyler goes back to what he was doing before his mom text; putting a temporary tattoo on his wrist.

  “Your mom is going to kill you,” Josh hums, leaning over Tyler to watch what he is doing. Tyler peels the paper off of his wrist to find that the feather tattoo had crumpled a bit. Oh, well, it didn't look too bad. Tyler's hands flit around in the pile of tattoos Pete had given him, picking one out. When Josh reaches out to take the Basketball tattoo from his hand, Tyler allows him to press it onto the side of his neck.

  “Eh, what she doesn't know won't hurt her.” Tyler replies, flinching away from the cold, wet rag as Josh puts it over the temporary tattoo.

  “Do you even play basketball?” Josh asks instead, setting the rag down and peeling back the slimy paper. He gives the fake tattoo a rather triumphant look before letting Tyler pick another one out.

  “I used to. I was getting scholarships and everything, but now,” Tyler trails off as he grabs a music note. He rolls up the sleeve of Josh's hoodie and looks for a decent place to stick the tattoo.

  “Now?” Josh prompts. Tyler shrugs and just drops the tattoo, letting it fall where it may. When it lands between Josh's thumb and index finger, he giggles and grabs the wet cloth.

  “I just want to do something different with my life.” After fifteen seconds pass, Tyler reveals the shoddily placed tattoo with a small smile. Before Josh can answer, Patrick walks over with a slightly confused expression. He hands Tyler the phone with a frown.

  “Your mom said you can stay, but when you come home, you are doing another set of five-hundred—whatever that means.” Tyler nods with a scowl, thanking Patrick.

  “Great, just what I needed,” Tyler says grumpily, and ignores Josh when he asks what that meant. He busies himself with putting more tattoos on Josh's wrist.

–

**Brendon**

  Brendon snuggles under his quilt as Dallon and Pete press temporary tattoos on each other; it was rather annoying. Pete sits on Brendon's left, while Dallon crouches on his right—both of them are constantly throwing their arms over or on Brendon's lap, which caused them to drip water all over his blanket.

  “Guys,” Brendon finally whines, swatting Pete away before Dallon could put a boxy, cartoon robot on Pete's shoulder. “Stop leaning over me!”

  “Sorry, baby,” Dallon apologizes, looking chastised as he pulls his arm back to his chest.

  “Well, _I'm_ not sorry!” Pete huffs, flopping over on Brendon to push his hand in Dallon's face.

  “Hey!” Brendon squeals, squirming under his best friend's weight. He tries to buck Pete off of him, but Pete just wiggles until he is completely sitting on Brendon; thus crushing his friend.

  “Patrick, control your boyfriend!” Brendon shouts, going limp under Pete's body. Dallon presses the tattoo to Pete's shoulder, looking uninterested in his boyfriend's tantrum.

  “I don't know what you're talking about; my boyfriend got eaten by chickens. Such a tragedy!” Patrick says dramatically, pretending to be overcome by sorrow as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead.

  “Chickens don't eat people—or whatever Wentz is,” Frank snickers, looking down at the “sleeve tattoo” Gerard is creating for him out of temporary tattoos and sharpies. Brendon belts out a long, obnoxious wail until Pete gets off of him, and continues the warbled cry even after.

  Flopped down on the floor, still letting out noises to annoy his friend, Brendon is in full-on tantrum mode, kicking off his blanket and everything. Josh grabs the container of cashews and walks over, gently placing a nut next to his friend's head. Unconsoled, Brendon swats the cashew away from his face, pouting and yelling about how big of a brat Pete is. (Granted, Brendon is acting like a brat, as well.)

  “Hey,” Dallon says, leaning over Brendon so the tips of his fringe brushes against Brendon's forehead.

  “What?” Brendon asks, stilling long enough to fake sniffle. Dallon leans down and smacks a kiss onto Brendon's lips. When he pulls away, Brendon pouts again, but is now quiet and no longer “upset”.

  “Gross, get a room,” Mikey complains, and Brendon sits up to narrow his eyes at his friend.

  “Fine, we will!” Brendon huffs, standing up and holding out a hand to Dallon. “Time to go get a room, Dallon.”

  “Okay,” Dallon shrugs, clearly down for whatever. Mikey shrieks something about “not being serious”, while the others whistle and cheer as Brendon leads Dallon upstairs. As far as Brendon isn't _actually_ going to do anything with Dallon, but his friends don't have to know that.

 

* * *

 

**Frank—6:30 PM, same day**

  When the power goes out, there is only so much a group of people can do until everyone is bored.

  They had played, in total, Thirty-six rounds of Poker, a game of Go-Fish (In which Josh thought it was “gold-fish”, and no one bothered to correct him because it was cute), and Black Jack. After all the temporary tattoos were used up (mostly by Frank, because he needed a sleeve), Gerard brought out a shit ton of Sharpies, and had the boys lined up one-by-one next to the lantern, so he could continue providing entertainment.

  Then, the group had tried their hand at story telling when Brendon (who came back with Dallon not even ten minutes after they left) had started reading a gay “Phanfiction” from some website called 'Archive of Our Own'. Needless to say, innocent ears—Patrick and Tyler—couldn't handle it, and the story telling was put on hold.

  Taking turns using the portable charger (there are only three cord ports), the friends eventually gave up and looked up memes and Youtube videos; which also stopped, because Tyler has an android, and he burnt up all of his data after watching five videos.

  Needless to say, everyone is so bored that just for fun, they have either switched between making out with their partner, to playing dart practice with Jolly Ranchers.

  While Frank aims what he assumes is a grape Jolly Rancher at the lantern, Gerard moves from Dallon to sit next to Frank.

  “What are you doing?” Gerard asks suspiciously, and Frank hides the object behind his back. Okay _,_ so Frank is the _only_ one playing dart practice, but what the others don't know can't hurt them, right?

  “Nothing,” Frank says quickly, smiling innocently when Gerard narrows his eyes.

  “ _Mhm_ , sure,” Gerard snorts, and Frank drops his angelic act.

  “Okay, so maybe I was creating some entertainment for myself,” Frank reveals, rolling his eyes.

  “Some entertainment _I'd_ like to see?” Gerard purrs suggestively, and Frank feels his face heat up before weakly producing the candy from behind his back.

  “Not unless you find entertainment in me throwing my Poker Profits at battery-powered lanterns,” Frank murmurs, blushing as he tosses the candy. It hits the side of the plastic lantern with a small click, before falling anticlimactically to the cold, tiled floor.

  Gerard snorts before shaking his head. He supports himself on his right arm, which he has strategically place in the spot right behind Frank, so he is leaning into the smaller teen's personal space. Frank feels himself flush at the closeness of his “boyfriend-not-boyfriend”, the heat burning the tips of his ears to the bottom of his spine.

  “You sure are funny, Frankie,” Gerard chuckles, taking a piece of candy right out of Frank's lap and untwisting the wrapper with one hand. He pops a red candy in his mouth, unable to discern whether it was strawberry or watermelon.

  “Thanks?” Frank quips, choosing a candy for himself.

  “You're welcome,” Gerard laughs, leaning away from Frank. “Anyways, I didn't come over here to harass you. I wanted to know when your mom is going to have a meeting with the principal—since it flooded today.”

  “Fuck!” Frank moans, his face crumpling in realization. “I forgot all about that. I guess she will be going tomorrow.”

  “Don't you have to—I don't know—kind of _be at the meeting?_ ” Gerard mutters, looking concerned. Frank practically wilts as he gets the gist of what Gerard is saying.

  “Yeah, I do,” Frank sighs, rubbing his temple when a headache begins to form. “I guess I won't be skipping school with you guys. It's for my own good, I suppose, since I haven't exactly been to class in two days.”

  “I'll go with you, Frankie,” Gerard decides, allowing Frank to lean on him.

  “Not that I promote skipping school,” Frank begins sarcastically, voice muffled into Gerard's shoulder. “But I can't let you ruin your plans to hang out with the guys tomorrow.”

  “Don't worry about it,” Gerard huffs flippantly, shrugging one shoulder. “Besides, they're all probably just going to play in mud puddles when the rain clears up.” Frank doesn't laugh at Gerard's jab at their friends, too worried about tomorrow.

  “I have no idea what to say or do,” Frank murmurs. “I don't think I could look into my mom's eyes when the principal tells her I received a death threat. She worries about me so much, you know? It would be heartbreaking.”

  “I know, Frankie.” Gerard wraps an arm around Frank's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his temple.

  “Two things could happen,” Frank continues, “My mom could either become really angry and raise hell against the school, or she could burst into tears and never let me out of the house. I honestly don't know which is worse.”

  “I imagine her flipping out on the school board would be worse,” Gerard sighs. “I think it would be a good idea for you to stay protected until Caine and Oliver are taken care of.”

  “I don't like the way you said that,” Frank states suspiciously, pulling away from Gerard. “I can take care of myself, you know—”

  “I never said you couldn't.”

  “Well then why are you trying to be so protective of me? Don't get me wrong, I'm upset over the threats, but if one of them came after me, I can throw a punch.”

  “Frank,” Gerard starts, looking frustrated, “you got bullied into a locker yesterday—and by more than one person, it would seem. Don't take offense to this, but 'throwing a punch' isn't going to save your ass if more than one person jumps you.”

  “How could I _not_ take offense to that?” Frank snaps. A particularly bright streak of lighting illuminates the living room, quickly followed by a deep roll of thunder. Everyone in the room quietens, as if speaking would anger the storm. Frank, however, doesn't seem to care.

  “I don't like the way you are hovering over me, Gerard,” Frank admits icily, ignoring the second clap of thunder. “I have done just fine before you came along, and I can continue to do fine.”

  “Frank, I just want to make sure you're safe—”

  “Oh, shove it,” Frank barks. He stands up, not caring that all the candy in his lap tumbles to the floor. “You officially met me Friday, dude. You've just never seen me keep myself safe.”

  “I _know_ , Frank, I know!” Gerard says, scrambling to get up and appease the smaller teen. He grabs Frank's arms, intending on embracing the boy. “I really care about you, that's all—”

  “Stop!” Frank interrupts, his voice rising. Frank pushes Gerard's arms off of him before stepping away. “It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything, so stop getting so over-protective of me!”

  The storm, his friends—hell, the entire world is nothing but background noise to Frank right now. He is just so angry and hurt that Gerard thinks he can't protect himself; well, he can! Yes, he's a little scared, but who wouldn't be? Besides, Frank has dealt with bullies before, and has fought a great deal of them, too.

  “Frankie,” Gerard starts, looking hurt.

  “No!” Frank snarls, “I beat the shit out of Caine when he messed with Mikey; wasn't that enough proof for you? Proof that I _can_ , in fact, take care of myself?”

  “Please, just sit down and stop trying to start an argument,” Gerard begs, reaching for Frank.

  “Don't tell me what to do!” Frank barks, stomping his foot. “Stop telling me what to do, who to talk to, and how to take care of myself! You're _not_ my boyfriend, and you _don't_ own me. I'm not a helpless little creature that needs some emo kid's protection!”

  Gerard flinches away, pulling his hands back to his chest to stare at Frank with wide, dark eyes.

  “Maybe we should settle down—” Brendon tries, looking at his two friends with unease. Frank whips around and points at Brendon with narrowed eyes.

  “No, _you_ settle down! This isn't your argument.” Frank pauses, thinking. “You know what? It's not my argument either.” Frank shuffles around the room, bumping past Gerard to look for his shoes and his coat. He doesn't bother with the laces when he shoves his feet into his battered sneakers, he just tucks the laces into his shoe while trying to put his hoodie on the right way.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Pete asks, standing up. Frank holds a warning hand out in front of him, scowling.

  “I need to clear my head before I say something I'll really regret,” Frank sighs coldly, giving his friend a once over. “If I were you, I'd back up and sit back down with Patrick—unless you want to be the punchline of a horrible joke I'm thinking of.”

  Pete looks unsure at Frank, scratching at the itchy bandages on his wrist without much thought. Then, Pete just nods and eases himself next to Patrick, who glares at Frank.

  “Good choice,” Frank says sarcastically. None of his friends stop him when he walks out of the house and into the rain, because they all know that Frank has it in him to be cruel; _none_ of them want to be a punchline to his jokes and jeers.

  “Gerard?” Mikey asks, waiting until the front door slams before continuing. “Are you alright, Gee?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn't I be?” Gerard replies grimly, staring in the direction of the front door.

  “Maybe you should go after him,” Dallon suggests quietly, looking away when Gerard scowls at him.

  “He's made it very clear he wants nothing to do with me,” Gerard rants, “and it's not fair, either! All I was trying to do was talk to him about his meeting with the principal, and he starts to act all prickly!” Gerard crosses his arms and cocks a hip, looking pissed, now.

  “Well, you _do_ sort of act like a helicopter-boyfriend,” Mikey points out, though he isn't quite sure who's side he should be on. Frank is the one who started an argument when Gerard was just trying to protect him, but then again, Gerard _does_ sort of get over-protective. With the way he practically frog-marched Frank to the principal yesterday, as well as taking matters in his own hands without telling Frank, Mikey could see why the boy is angry at his brother.

  “Didn't you hear him?” Gerard sneers, “I'm _not_ his boyfriend.”

  “Shut up,” Tyler pipes in, looking irritated. “You two are so stupid, you realize that, right? You clearly like each other, and I'd bet you Frank would act the same way if the situation was reversed.”

  “Well he had no right to just start yelling like that!” Gerard accuses, and Tyler pushes himself up by using Josh's shoulder.

  “Don't use that tone with me, Way,” Tyler hisses, narrowing his eyes. “I'm not trying to justify Frank's outburst. I'm just letting you know that you are both idiots; especially _you_ for letting him go out into the rain! Do you realize he could get hit by a car? Catch the flu? Get lost? I don't know if you have noticed or not, but the whole 'Flash Flood' is still a thing, and he's wandering around in six inches of it!”

  “Who do you think you think you are, talking to me like that?” Gerard hisses back, stabbing a finger into Tyler's chest.

  “You know what happened to the last person who touched me?” Tyler asks, shoving Gerard's hand. “He got an entire carton of juice poured on his head.”

  “Yeah? Not that it matters, because if I remember correctly, he pushed your skinny ass down and gave you a good beating!”

  “That's enough, Way,” Josh says, standing up and putting a hand on Tyler's lower back. “If _I_ remember correctly, when Ross pushed Ty down, I was there in a second to way-lay his ass. So if you know what's good for you, I suggest you drop the subject and look for Frank, before the next person put in the hospital will be _you._ ”

  Gerard puffs up his chest but doesn't say anything, realizing he has lost. With his head held high, he begins to look for his own shoes and coat. He tells himself that the only reason why he is looking for Frank is because he is worried about him...not because he knows Josh can—and will—carry out the threat. _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, and maybe you'll believe it,_ Gerard thinks bitterly, before heading out into the rain.

–

**Dallon**

  “Yeesh, you guys have to be the most angry people I've ever met,” Dallon teases, shaking his head. He watches Tyler sit back down and take a shuddering breath, the boy's hands shaking and his face incredibly pale under the light of the lantern.

  “I just don't understand everyone's problem today,” Tyler murmurs back, leaning against Josh when his soulmate sits down. “Everyone is getting into arguments and running out into the rain...do you guys know how stupid we all look when we can't get along?”

  None of his friends answer him, but he knows they all see his point. The arguments and drama seems to only be between the people who don't admit their feelings for one another, but even so, Dallon can't help but wonder if he and Brendon are next. He resists the urge to ask Brendon if everything is okay between the two of them, deciding that is something they should talk about in private.

  This morning, Patrick had been quite vocal about his anger in the group chat, and almost ten minutes ago, Frank ranted in front of his friends. Dallon doesn't understand how people can be so angry that they just rant and rage, bringing all of their drama and problems to the table for everyone to see. Why can't everyone just sit down and talk reasonably with one another, instead of holding all of that anger in, then ultimately lashing out?

  “If anyone has problems,” Tyler suggests, as though he had heard what Dallon was thinking. “I think now would be a good time to take your friend or partner into another room, and sort stuff out.”

  No one stands up, though. Patrick and Pete had done a good deal of talking, Mikey doesn't have beef with anyone, and everyone has high belief that Josh and Tyler have the perfect relationship. Aside from everyone getting antsy when they see a couple argue (I.e Tyler mouthing off to Gerard), none of the boys have problems with each other.

  “I think I have to go into another room with Dallon,” Brendon says somberly, and Dallon stares in horror as Brendon stands and offers him a hand.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Dallon squeaks, placing his hand in Brendon's and allowing his boyfriend to help him up.

  “Nah, I just wanna make out with you,” Brendon snickers, and Dallon bursts into giggles of relief.

  “Or leave so you can do _that_ ,” Tyler mutters grumpily, cringing at the thought of his friends making out in front of him.

–

**Frank**

  Frank falls into a deep puddle after stepping on his shoe laces while running. His knees sore from falling into the water filled pothole, and the palms of his hands scratched and dotting with blood, Frank lets out a pitiful sob as he sits half in the puddle, half on the street.

  Frank doesn't move from his spot in the puddle, deciding the rain has drenched him so much that a little bit more water can't hurt. With a sniffle that sends rain water snorting up his nose, Frank twists off of his knees and onto his butt, so he could properly sit. Then, he pulls his banged up knees to his chest and rubs his dirty hands on his shirt.

 _Okay_ , Frank thinks, _maybe I overreacted a little bit._ Frank isn't sure why he got so angry at Gerard—all the boy was trying to do was keep Frank safe. It just felt as though Gerard was subtly belittling him, even if that wasn't his intention.

  “Frank?” Frank jumps in surprise, snapping his head to his left. A silhouette runs against the heavy rain, stumbling to Frank's hunched form. “Oh, Frank, thank god you're okay!”

  “What are you doing here?” Frank asks bitterly, scowling when he realizes Gerard had come after him. With his head tilted up, Frank had to shield his eyes with his hand to avoid being blinded by rain water.

  “I came to check on you,” Gerard huffs. Rain had washed most of Gerard's makeup down his face, with ugly streaks of black and blue dripping off his chin. The streams of water have plastered the tips of his platinum hair to his forehead, as well, and the longer Frank looks, the more he realizes Gerard's roots need to be redyed.

  “I don't need to be checked on,” Frank huffs, looking away from Gerard's stupid dark roots, stupid smudged eyes, and stupid soft smile. _Gerard is stupid_ , Frank thinks decisively.

  “Please let me explain, Frankie,” Gerard murmurs, still wearing a friendly smile. He crouches next to the smaller teen, careful to keep the seat of his pants from sitting in ankle-deep water.

  “I'm listening,” Frank grants, but looks pointedly in the opposite direction of his friend. The rain seems to be easing up a bit, and Frank hasn't heard any thunder since he had left Brendon's. Gerard lazily splashes his fingers through the puddle Frank is sitting in, his smile dimming a bit.

  “I know I've been a bit too... _overbearing_. I'm just really scared for you, Frank,” Gerard sighs, and Frank turns his head a bit to hear better. “I'm scared that those guys will hurt you, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it. So, I tried putting the matter into an adult's hands, without even considering how you'd feel about it.”

  “Why are you so scared for someone like _me_?” Frank laughs without humor, shaking his wet hair away from his eyes. “And whatever happened to the whole brave and confident side of you? I thought you were trying to be some kind of hero, not a sassy emo kid with a penchant for comic books.”

  “I know what you thought,” Gerard sighs, trying not to be offended by the truth. “I was trying to make myself cool and brave, that way you'd like me. I figured that if I kept up the act...you really _would_ believe I was a hero, and you'd feel safe. I can tell now that I was only being pushy.”

  “Gerard, I never liked you because I thought you were some hero,” Frank snaps, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I like you because you are nice, talented, and funny—I liked it when you weren't pretending you were someone you aren't.”

  “Take away my heroic qualities, and all you have is 'a sassy emo kid with a penchant for comic books'.” Gerard laughs a little, ducking his head. Frank offers a small smile in return before shrugging.

  “I tried making that an insult,” Frank admits, sniffling a little, “But honestly, I like sassy emo kids.”

  “Even ones who treat you like a helpless creature?” Gerard asks, looking down shyly.

  “Even the ones who treat me like a helpless creature,” Frank nods. The two sit in silence for a moment, listening to the rain splattering against any available surface. “Gerard?”

  “Yeah, Frankie?”

  “Please don't do this anymore,” Frank whispers. “I appreciate your concern, but I wish you'd start asking me how I feel before you take matters into your own hands again.”

  “I really am sorry, Frankie. Do you forgive me?”

  “I will forgive you when you stop acting like I can't protect myself. Don't get me wrong, I love knowing I have people who will help me when I'm in need, but I can't stand having my friends think I'm weak.”

  “We don't think you're weak,” Gerard says, springing up and offering a hand to Frank. Frank allows Gerard to help him stand, both of them intent on getting out of the road and under the safety of a scraggly tree next to the sidewalk.

  “In the house, you said,” Gerard stops suddenly, biting his lip as he looks down at his soaked shoes. Frank tilts his head, frowning.

  “I said a lot of things,” Frank prompts, spitting out a mouth full of rainwater for emphasis.

  “You said that I wasn't your boyfriend,” Gerard sighs. “I know that I'm not, but it kind of sounded like you didn't want me to be.”

  “Oh,” is all Frank could say, looking down at his feet.

  “You don't like me like that.” Gerard confirms, slouching sadly against the tree.

  “I do like you, Gerard,” Frank huffs, rolling his eyes. “I just don't want to be with you if you are going to control me.” Gerard visibly winces, keeping his eyes trained on his shoes.

  “I wouldn't have...I don't think I would...I'm _sorry_ Frankie.” Gerard feels tears well up in his eyes before sliding slowly down his cheeks, mingling with the rain water. Gerard isn't quite sure why he is crying, and he feels kind of stupid for it. Gerard may have just ruined everything with his crush—when all he was trying to do was fix things.

  “Please don't,” Frank sighs, looking up at Gerard's forlorn expression with exhausted eyes. “You made a mistake, that's all; people make mistakes often.”

  “I'm sorry,” Gerard apologizes again, scrubbing at his eyes with a wet hand. He gives a hard sniffle before continuing. “I really didn't mean to make you feel weak, or give you the impression that I figured you couldn't take care of yourself. That wasn't my intention at all.”

  “I know it wasn't. Just promise me you won't do it again, and everything will be fine,” Frank offers, and Gerard nods.

  “I promise, Frankie, I promise. I'm so sorry.” Gerard sniffles, and Frank steps forward to wrap his arms around Gerard's waist. The two boys embrace each other, standing in the rain and shivering hard against the turrets of water that is slowly beginning to dissipate.

  “Maybe we should get back to Brendon's,” Frank whispers, and Gerard drops his arms from around Frank, a slight tremble to his chin that he couldn't decide if it was from the cold or heartbreak.

  “That's a good idea.” Gerard follows after Frank, sloshing through streams of water with his shoulders hunched against the rain.

  “It seems the rain is going to stop soon,” Frank calls over his shoulder, and Gerard makes a huffing noise in return. The two don't speak to each other the entire ten minute trek back to the cul de sac, aside from the occasional “turn this corner” or “watch out for that puddle”. When Brendon's house looms into view, the rain had slowed to a slight drizzle, and the rain clouds had become a nasty grey rather than the thick black colour they've been all day.

  When Frank knocks lightly on the front door, he is almost relieved to see Tyler's pinched glare.

  “Thank god, Tyler. Can we come in?” Frank asks, sagging against the door frame. Tyler scrunches up his face as he leans away from Frank's dripping body.

  “Sure, if you both promise to stop fighting.” Tyler offers, still blocking the entrance to the foyer. Frank just nods quickly while Gerard scowls behind him.

  “I'm so tired of making promises,” Gerard huffs, but nods as well. Looking a bit unsatisfied, Tyler reluctantly shuffles to the right to open the door wide enough for the two teens to enter. Frank eagerly pushes into the house, stripping off his jacket as he goes. Before Gerard could follow him, Tyler stops the teen in his tracks by placing a hand on Gerard's chest.

  “Did you and Frank make up?” Tyler asks, keeping a hand on Gerard as he shuts the front door.

  “If you call two guys sitting under a tree in the rain while crying 'making up'—then sure.”

  “Didn't you apologize?” Tyler huffs, taking his hand away from Gerard to set it on his cocked hip.

  “Yes, I did,” Gerard snaps, still scowling. “But apparently he still doesn't want anything to do with me.”

  “I'm sorry,” Tyler sighs finally, stepping aside to let Gerard pass. “I'm sure he'll come around.”

  “I don't know,” Gerard remarks. Then, with a final sniffle, Gerard walks through the foyer and into the living room, where Frank is currently being rubbed down with towels by Patrick and Dallon.

  “Hey, Gee, get over here,” Mikey calls, standing next to Josh and Brendon. “We are gonna try to dry you off. Then, we can get some mattresses and go to bed, alright?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Gerard trudges over, looking relieved that he could dry off and get some rest.

  After Gerard and Frank are dried off and shoved into some of Brendon's clothes, the group of boys head upstairs to get three mattresses; one from Brendon's room, and then one from each of the two guest rooms. After a lot of groans and complaints while sliding them down the hall—and a shriek or two from Brendon when he accidentally drops one mattress down the stairs—the boys finally get the mattresses pushed together in the middle of the living room, creating one large bed with hundreds of blankets and pillows piled on top.

  While everyone gets ready for bed, Tyler hovers over the lantern next to Josh, a Makeup-Remover wipe in one hand, and a mirror in the other. He scrubs vigorously at his face, scowling when he smears black mascara down his cheeks. He had gotten all of his makeup off at last, until he realized that the false eyelashes were still loosely pressed against his lids.

  “Is it going to hurt if I pull them off, or should I keep using the wipe in hopes the glue will dissolve?” Tyler asks, turning to look at Josh. Josh looks up from his phone with confusion, before lifting one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

  “I dunno, just pull them off.”

  “Will it hurt? Will it tear my eyelashes off? _Oh_ _God, do eyelashes even grow back?”_ Tyler yelps, ignoring his friends' snickers from across the room.

  “I don't think they do,” Frank teases, taking a makeup wipe to his own face—not that it done much good, since the rain had washed off most of his and Gerard's makeup, anyhow. “But don't worry, if they all get ripped off, we will just buy you more falsies!”

  Tyler looks to Josh in horror, and before his soulmate could correct Frank's statement, Tyler falls over onto his side and lets out a soft “nooooo...”

  “Oh my god, Tyler, you'll be fine. Come here.” Josh ended up having to bully Tyler into letting him take off the Falsies, and when they finished, Tyler managed to lose only _one_ eyelash, because it had been completely coated in glue.

  Finally, everyone had last minute snacks and had brushed their teeth; the only one who seemed intent on keeping his makeup on was Brendon, despite everyone's urges to remove it. (He said he was too tired to take it off, and then promptly fell onto his spot on the mattress with no intentions on removing it.) With that, the boys had wiggled into their respective spots, unashamed to cuddle with their partners and friends to stay warm.

  Everyone lies on their backs, lying shoulder to shoulder in the dark. The rain had completely stopped, but the power had yet to come back on. Aside from the occasional howl of the wind, the house was silent and lonely, completely dark with only the battery-powered lantern flickering in the window sill. Despite the comfort of a million blankets, and the quiet darkness of the house, all of the boys were too wired up to sleep—thus prompting them to whip out their phones and use up their remaining battery life.

 

* * *

 

**8:36PM**

–

_user_ **Gerard Way** _changed their name to_ **Gee._.note** _._

  


**ThnksPt:** oh no, not this damn chat again

  


**Gee._.Note:** I figured that if everyone else had a name change, I needed one too

  


**Mikey Way:** not all of us have user names, Gee

  


_user_ **Gee._.Note** _has changed_ **Mikey Way** _'s screen name to_ **Moikey Way** _._

  


**xofrnk:** LMAO MOIKEY

  


**Moikey Way:** Moikey Way?

 **Moikey Way:** no, more like…

 **Moikey Way:** milky way ;)

  


**Gee._.Note:** OHMYGOD MICHEAL NO

  


**Joshua Dun:** I really wish I didn't read that

  


**Bren_Done:** HAHAHAHA OMFG

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Okay, but honestly...same.

  


**xofrnk:** IM SCREAMING

  


**Dallon Weekes:** wtf tyler why tho

 **Dallon Weekes:** nvm don't answer that

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** I need to bleach my soul after this sin

  


**Tyler Joseph:** Sorry, I'm only being honest, frens

  


**Moikey Way:** I'M SO PLEASED RIGHT NOW

  


**Joshua Dun:** Im gonna go. Im too pure to read what my bff/soulmate just agreed to

  


_user_ **Tyler Joseph** _has changed their user to_ **Milk*Boi** _._

  


**Joshua Dun:** omg stop

  


**Milk*Boi:** I'm working on a new song. I'm thinking it will go something like

 **Milk*Boi:** “they say stay in your milk, boi – milk, boi...but I drink what I want to.”

  


_user_ **xofrnk** _has changed their name to_ **FrankOreo** _._

  


**FrankOreo:** be the milk to my cookies, tyler

  


**Milk*Boi:** yummy

  


**Bren_Done:** WOULD YOU LIKE TO EAT SOME DICK-IES AND CREME LMAO

  


**ThnksPt:** I CAN'T BREATHE TYLER WHY LMAOOOOOO

  


_user_ **Moikey Way** _has changed their name to_ **milky(way)** _._

  


**Gee._.Note:** nooooo

  


_user_ **FrankOreo** _has changed their user to_ **bondage.and.milk**

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I'm going to throw up brb

  


**Bren_Done:** DAL ACTUALLY GOT UP LMMFAO RN OMG

  


**Milk*Boi:** ew, so many acronyms

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** Tyler, may I ask why you used an asterisk in between Milk and Boi?

  


**Milk*Boi:** I thought it kinda looked like a flower, which reminded me of twinks

 **Milk*Boi:** and I'm a twink so

  


**ThnksPt:** I DONT THINK YOU KNOW WHAT THAT WORD MEANS

  


**milky(way):** urban dictionary says its “a homosexual male with attractive boyish qualities”

  


**Milk*Boi:** so...me?

  


**Joshua Dun:** thE SIN

  


_user_ **Joshua Dun** _has changed their name to_ **Josh+Nun** _._

  


**Josh+Nun:** sorry, baby, I'm not gay for you anymore

 **Josh+Nun:** I'm only gay for jesus because I can't handle your life of sin

  


**Dallon Weekes:** IM

  


**Bren_Done:** AHAHAHAHA GOOD B Y E

  


**Milk*Boi:** but Josh...I'm pregnant with your child

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** but???that's???impossible???

  


**Josh+Nun:** I'm gonna be a daddy?

  


**Milk*Boi:** I mean, you were already daddy

 **Milk*Boi:** but sure

  


**milky(way):** HERE WE GO AGAIN

  


**Josh+Nun:** I need to sit down for a minute

  


**Dallon Weekes:** you're already sitting though

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** what has this chat come to

  


**ThnksPt:** lol come

  


**Stolen_Snacks:** no

  


_user_ **Stolen_Snacks** _has changed their name to_ **Single** _._

  


**ThnksPt:** :(

  


**milky(way):** come on, at least make it dairy related

  


_user_ **Single** _has changed their name to_ **KraftSingleTM** _._

  


**KraftSingleTM:** better?

  


**milky(way):** not v creative, but sure

  


**ThnksPt:** good bye, time to cry

  


**Bren_Done:** I know what will make Pete feel better

 **Bren_Done:** “he nEEDS SOME MILK”

  


**ThnksPt:** mEMESSSSS

  


_user_ **ThnksPt** _has changed their name to_ **Meme Milker** _._

  


**Gee._.Note:** please kill me now

  


**bondage.and.milk:** why do that, when I can tie you up and serve you a beverage, instead?

  


**Gee._.Note:** AHHHHHH STOP

  


**Bren_Done:** looks like these two made up

  


_User_ **Josh+Nun** _has changed their name to_ **Daddy's_Milk** _._

  


**KraftSingleTM:** WHY IS EVERYONE SO KINKY TF

 **KraftSingleTM:** AND THESE DAIRY NAMES ARE CONFUSING ME

  


**Milk*Boi:** brb guys, I need to be alone with Daddy for a minute

  


**Daddy's_Milk:** oMG

  


**Dallon Weekes:** TYLER JOSEPH NO SEX. SIT BACK DOWN

  


**Milk*Boi:** I only wanted some of daddy's milk

  


**Daddy's_Milk:** OM**F**G

  


_user_ **Bren_Done** _has changed their user to_ **Bathtub** _._

  


**milky(way):** what

  


**Bathtub:** see, you guys reminded me of this milk porn I watched. I can show you guys, if you want

  


**Dallon Weekes:** brb, gonna go throw up again

  


**Meme_Milker:** no thanks, bren. Tyler is all talk, but clearly no walk

 **Meme_Milker:** i'd hate for you to soil his innocent eyes

  


**Milk*Boi:** offEND, HOW DARE YOU

 **Milk*Boi:** but yeah, no. I agree, I don't wanna watch it thank you

  


_user_ **Daddy's_Milk** _changed their user to_ **Josh+Nun** _._

  


**Josh+Nun:** sorry, guys, it was too much of a sin. I couldn't handle it

  


**Bathtub:** that's strange, coming from a gay

  


**Josh+Nun:** BEING GAY IS A SIN.

  


**Milk*Boi:** how about you come over to my house, and we can see how much of a sin it really is?

  


**KraftSingleTM:** AHHHHHHH

  


**bondage.and.milk:** wELL

  


**Meme_Milker:**...okay, maybe he's a /little/ walk.

  


**Josh+Nun:** so, like a bible study, Ty?

  


**Milk*Boi:** we can certainly call it that

 **Milk*Boi:** I'm quite the bible thumper, if you know what I mean

  


**Dallon Weekes:** NOOOOOO

  


**KraftSingleTM:** IM CATCHING SECOND-HAND SIN JUST FROM READING THAT

  


**milky(way):** bleach, Brendon, where is your bLEACH

  


**Josh+Nun:** Ty, don't belittle yourself like that! You're just a good Christian!

 **Josh+Nun:** Bible Thumper is just a mean word, and I won't stand for you calling yourself that!

  


**KraftSingleTM:** that innuendo flew over his head

  


**Milk*Boi:** just like I will ;)

  


**Gee._.Note:** dude, that joke sucked worse than my ex boyfriend.

  


**Josh+Nun:** ty, you aren't tall enough to jump over me.

  


**Josh+Nun** _i_ _s typing…_

  


**Josh+Nun:** oh

 **Josh+Nun:** ohmygosh

 **Josh+Nun:** you mean

 **Josh+Nun:** not the head on my shoulders

 **Josh+Nun:** but my

 **Josh+Nun:** someone will need to save your heavydirtysoul, you nasty, and it WONT be me

 **Josh+Dun:** all of you, get some Jesus

  


_user_ **Josh+Nun** _has muted the chat. They will receive messages when active again._

  


**SingleKraftTM:** pls tell me he isn't going to the bathroom for the same reason I think he is

  


**Bathtub:** he neEDS SOME MILK

 **Bathtub:** (or to release some, idk)

  


**Dallon Weekes:** I'd get up to go vomit again, but idk if I want to see what's going on in the bathroom

  


**bondage.and.milk:** guys chill, he's coming back now

  


**Meme_Milker:** (coming)

 

_user_ **Josh+Nun** _has unmuted the chat!_

 

 **Josh+Nun:** i've unmuted the chat, but only because i wanted to inform you i didn't do what you guys were thinking

 

 **Bathtub:** I just figured u needed to poop, since you took that long

 

 **Milk*Boi:** you are what your dad shits

 

 **Meme_Milker:** HAHAHAHAhA WhAT

 

 **milky(way):** why am I friends with any of you

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // I've now come to accept the fact that I can't, for the life of me, write short end notes. (These aren't very important, so you can skip them, if you want.)  
>  LET ME TELL YOU A THING! It was /literally/ TWENTY-FUCKING-MINUTES into new years when my youngest sister accidentally smacked my phone from my hand, and the screen busted so bad that if I try to use it, I pick shards of glass out of my thumb. I swear on my life.   
> (This may provide for some good story material later on (Foreshadowing?), but only when I get a new phone and I'm no longer passive-aggressive about the incident.)  
>  The power outage thing happened at my school. Every detail about the students screaming and the red emergency lights actually happened. However, the only reason why I chose to write about that experience in the first place is because it's been raining all fucking week. (edit: during the week I wrote that part of the chapter, it rained. I write author's notes while I write the chapters, that way I can touch on everything I need to without forgetting about it)  
>  And you know what I need? A compilation of Tyler Joseph laughing. Yes, that's probably creepy, but his laugh is just so infectious!   
>  Lol, I watched a makeup tutorial on YouTube for this chapter. I'm sorry that the “beauty” section sucked, but I have no idea how to put on makeup, or how it works, so. All I know is that my sisters put on makeup, and they are good at it *shrug*.   
>  My favourite thing to write about was the little scenes in the barn/group chat. So cute and funny<3 Like, I got actual happy feels over it haha  
>  I seem to have this fetish where sexual topics make Tyler feel flustered, until he needs to prove himself to his friends (I.e. Tyler becoming sassy about being “horny” when Patrick embarrasses him). How is that working out? Is it too weird? I hope not, because with that scene, I've managed to make both of my betas laugh. (yes, I have two.)  
> I'm living for the last group chat; mostly because about half of it are real conversations I've had with my friend.  
>  If you read this far, thank you! Please add: “xx_Save the chickens; End the Pete_xx” to your comment, so I know I'm not wasting my time with Author's Notes!  
>  Stay amazing, bumblebees, and don't forget to participate in the previous author's note (the “chapter” post before this one), so I know whether or not smut is a good idea for this fic! I'll see you guys in chapter six~

**Author's Note:**

> //Okay, first things first, to help clear confusion!  
> I have never written a fic about real people before, so many of the characters in the Character Tag are referenced/mentioned/implied randomly throughout the fic, as supporting characters rather than main ones. 
> 
> Many of these people's family members are generic parents. For example: Yes, I know Brendon has siblings, but as I do not know much about them, and feel a bit weird writing them, I will not be including them in the story.(This will go for everyone else's families, unless I need family members to move the story along) I hope you all will understand my decision. 
> 
> I would like to apologize for making Ryan out to be the bad guy. I genuinely like him! I just needed an antagonist.  
> Also, I am sure there are several OOC moments, and I hope you will forgive me. I don't explicitly know how these boys would react in every situation, so if you don't appreciate this, I hope you will enjoy the story for how it is written, anyways. If not, please don't make rude remarks, and just leave. (Constructive comments are welcome, though!)  
> Chapters are long and will be slow going, so for now, updates are irregular. However, I am almost done with the second Chapter!
> 
> -How many song//band/interview references did you catch? ;) -  
> If you have any questions, comments, concerns- you can either type them in the comment section, or refer to my email address!  
> homicideandwritingprompts@gmail.com  
> Although, if you want to just chat or tell me something about yourself, or if you need someone to talk to, you can email me for that, as well!  
> click that kudos button if you enjoyed, and if you would like to see more, feel free to bookmark this work! Thank you for reading this far!


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